Champion of the Goddess
by cosmic-cube-keeper
Summary: Convicted at his trial, Harry flees the country, only to meet further disaster abroad. However, the Goddess has a plan for him that might mean the difference in his fight against the Dark Lord. Dark!Harry, Amnesiac!Harry, AU, time-travel, x-over. WARNING: SLASH, violence.
1. Final Injustice

_Apologies for the lengthy opening note... but I ask you please bear with me..._

_I've debated perhaps a dozen ways of doing this one. The original "Canadian Intervention", released back in 2007 when I was using a different pen name, eventually featured Harry venturing into the past, and receiving training from the Isle of Avalon. However, there were a lot of problems with it, mainly immaturity in the writing style. Issues that prevent me from re-posting it. Instead, I take a slightly more mature route._

_The original plot bunny hatched after I watched "The Mists of Avalon", the 2001 miniseries by TNT, which brought Marion Zimmer-Bradley's book to the small screen. Granted, there have been more than a few fictions out there that cover Harry harnessing the power of Avalon, but each has their own angle, and this is mine._

_In case you skimmed the summary, __**this story will have SLASH in it, as in, homosexual relationships.**__ Guy on guy. Wand on wand. Boy kissing. Whatever you want to call it. __**If your mind is too small to handle the idea, then you might want to click the back-button now.**__ For those who are able to cope with the perfectly normal concept, welcome aboard._

_A few other things to keep in mind, the time frame for Harry's universe has been moved forward ten (10) years. Harry being born in 1990, rather than 1980. The story begins the summer after Harry's fourth year, at his trial for under-aged sorcery._

_Finally, I must stress that this story contains MATURE SUBJECT MATTER, and therefore garners the MATURE rating. There will be graphic depictions of violence, and the potential for triggering scenes and scenarios. Seriously. I have no time for people who ignore these warnings, read half the story, then post a flame at the first thing that makes them uncomfortable, because they failed to read the opening notes. You have been warned. Flames will be shredded and ignored._

_Still with me? Very well. I then present, "CHAMPION OF THE GODDESS"._

* * *

><p><strong>ACT I: CHANGE<strong>

"_Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."_

_- George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

><p><em>Posted November 23, 2014<em>

_SUMMARY: Harry is found guilty of violating the statute of secrecy at his hearing. He realizes he needs to start making decisions for himself, and flees Grimmauld Place, headed for Gringotts._

* * *

><p><strong>1. FINAL INJUSTICE<strong>

**August, 2005**

"_The highest reach of injustice is to be deemed just when you are not."_

_- Plato_

* * *

><p><em>August 2, 2005<br>Courtroom 10, Ministry of Magic_

"_Not a very convincing witness,_" Fudge's words echoed in Harry's head, as he stood, staring at his feet. And really, Mrs. Figg couldn't have appeared more batty if she'd tried. 'Real nice impression there, Dumbledore,' Harry raged in his head, while the Wizengamot continued to whisper amongst themselves, deliberating the testimony just presented. Granted, Dumbledore had made some very good points, but really. Mrs. Figg opening her testimony with "_I was going to buy cat food for my cats..._" Yeah. That too left a nice impression on the court.

Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" said Madam Bones's booming voice.

Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air... but... only a quarter, at most. His heart sank, as Madam Bones then said, "And those in favour of conviction?"(1)

As expected, the remainder of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Fudge looked around at them all, carrying a smug look on his face.

"Very well, very well," he spoke, almost jovially, "Having been found guilty of the charges, it is then ordered that you, Harry James Potter, be expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, effective immediately. You are to surrender your wand—"

Harry didn't let Fudge finish, but yanked his wand out of the waistband of his pants, and flung it at the floor.

"I hope _Voldemort_ finds every last one of you. I won't raise a finger," he snarled. A storm of rage had welled up inside him—it was easier to be filled with anger than to acknowledge what he was truly feeling at that moment: crushing sadness, injustice, and ultimately, betrayal.

"Harry—" Dumbledore tried, but the boy was already storming out of the courtroom, leaving a sputtering Wizengamot behind. The young wizard's utterance of 'Voldemort' had a number of the membership looking ill, while others looked about ready to faint. If anything, it had been a right Slytherin thing to do, effectively stunning the room into inaction, allowing him to escape.

Dumbledore summoned Harry's wand, and stuffed it into the pocket of his robes, then waited for the room to settle down.

"Well, Cornelius, I hope you're happy," he said, gravely, "In your haste to see justice served, you may have just doomed us all."

"He-who-must-not-be-named is GONE, Dumbledore, and he isn't coming back!" Fudge blustered, though still unsettled by the boy's brazen use of the monster's name.

"Whether you wish to acknowledge the evidence or not, the evidence is irrefutable. Mark my words, the choices you have all made here will have serious consequences. Perhaps not immediately, but most definitely in the future. With that I bid you all a good day."

Dumbledore then swept from the courtroom.

* * *

><p>Harry stormed past everyone in the ministry, ignoring Arthur Weasley calling out to him; he was completely focused on finding an outgoing fireplace in order to escape the place whose walls seemed to be closing in on him. Finding one open, he grabbed a fistful of powder from the small pot suspended from a hook beside it, flung it at the grate, then hurled himself into the emerald-green flames, commanding, "NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE!"<p>

Harry stumbled out of the grate moments later, and barely had a chance to straighten himself up, before he was bombarded by questions.

"Just... leave me alone," he muttered, pushing his way through the small crowd.

He needed time to think about things... how to go forward now. He'd certainly considered the thought, but... really. Everyone had assured him things would be fine.

"Harry..."

"Piss off," Harry snarled, as he thundered up the stairs. He missed the hurt look that crossed Sirius' face. He made it up to the second floor, and into the room he was sharing with Ron, slamming the door behind.

The Dementor attack had been bad. This... this was worse. Far worse. No wand, no way to protect himself—Voldemort would finish him off the next time they met, that was for certain. Unless Dumbledore had some secret backup plan up his sleeve. The man held far too many secrets.

He was momentarily startled, when Hedwig fluttered down and landed on his shoulder.

"Hi, girl. Right mess we're in, huh?"

The owl simply puffed up her feathers, before rubbing up against the side of his head as a show of affection.

"Sometimes I wish we could trade places... wait."

An idea popped into his head. Maybe not trade places, but... Harry flung the lid of his trunk open, and retrieved his invisibility cloak, slammed it shut, then collected his broom, which rested in a corner.

"Care to come for a flight with me?"

So it was, that one fifteen-year-old ex-wizard, and one snowy owl, hidden under an invisibility cloak, escaped to the back garden. Harry counted his blessings that neither Alastor 'mad-eye' Moody, nor Professor Dumbledore were in the house; the adventure would have been over before it started. All the same, Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he mounted his broom and took off, his companion lifting off to join him.

Perhaps the stunt was a little reckless, but at this point, he really felt he had nothing to lose. The Wizarding world had let him down yet again. His friends had let him down somewhat... and so did Sirius, in a way. Dumbledore was a wise man, yes, but he was human, prone to mistakes, just like everyone else. And why was it he seemed to have authority over everyone? He was the headmaster of his (former) school, right? What right did he have to dictate what others did or did not do?

So many questions filled his head, but it all came back to one. What now? He sure as hell wasn't going back to the Dursleys. And why was it Dumbledore insisted he had to go back there in the first place? Maybe Sirius could let him stay at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had invited Harry to live with him over a year prior, right?

No. That would likely not work. _Dumbledore_ would never allow it. But the question again... why did what Dumbledore have to say really matter? The more he thought about it, the more angry he became at the old man. Secrets on top of secrets, perhaps the largest grief Harry had with him at the moment... he'd still not given an answer as to why Voldemort had singled him out in the first place. Why him? What was so important, that his comfort, happiness, and potentially, his very life, appeared to be second-priority?

As it came on mid-afternoon, Harry found himself flying just above the rooftops near Charing Cross Road, and more specifically, the Leaky Cauldron. From the air, it was a little more difficult to spot, but after a few minutes' searching, he spotted the rather worn sign overhanging the street. He aimed his broom for the alley, and touched down. Hedwig fluttered down to again light on his shoulder.

"Right, Hedwig. Meet me in Diagon Alley, okay? I might have a plan." Well, a half-baked plan, but most important, he needed to speak to Sirius.

Hedwig again gave a gentle rub against Harry's head, then took off. Harry, meanwhile, stowed his invisibility cloak in his small rucksack, took a good hold of his broom, then stepped inside the dingy pub.

Harry groaned, finding the place packed with witches and wizards. Right. Afternoon tea. Typical of his luck. A few people called out to him, while a few sniggered behind his back, as he crossed the pub, and into the small courtyard in which stood the wall separating Diagon Alley from the Muggle world.

"Mr. Potter."

"Uh. Oh. Tom," Harry greeted.

"Rotten luck," said the barman, sadly, "They should've let you off."

"Yeah, but it's me we're talking about," Harry answered, "Uh, could you do me a favour and open the gateway? I..."

"Right."

Tom produced his wand, and tapped the bricks in the correct order.

"Thank you."

"Any time."

Stepping through the gateway, Harry made a bee line for Gringotts, with Hedwig lighting on his shoulder about half-way there. The plan was taking firmer shape in his head now... though really, if he could get Sirius' help, it would go much smoother. His trust vault might cover what he was about to do, but... it really depended on him having access to coin.

He at last arrived at the enormous white building that seemed to tower over the other buildings in the alley, and with a nod to the goblin sentry outside, he pushed open the doors, and entered the wizarding bank.

* * *

><p><em>CHAPTER NOTES: Up next: Sirius joins his godson at Gringotts, and with the help of two account managers, provide Harry with the way and means to escape from Dumbledore and the Order's clutches.<em>

_(1) Taken from p.138, "Order of the Phoenix", Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	2. The Escape

_Posted Nov 23, 2014  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __Sirius joins his godson at Gringotts, and with the help of two account managers, provide Harry with the way and means to escape from Dumbledore and the Order's clutches._

* * *

><p><strong>2. THE ESCAPE<strong>

**August, 2005**

"_Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."_

_- William S. Burroughs_

* * *

><p>At first, both Ron and Hermione wanted to storm up the stairs after their friend, but Sirius wouldn't have any of it. "Just give him some space," he'd told them. So, it wasn't until nearly lunch time that they discovered Harry was missing. It was a near-panic, until Ron realized Harry's broom was gone.<p>

"And he's left his photo album here," Hermione noticed, peeking into her friend's trunk, "He wouldn't just leave that kind of thing behind."

"Still, it's irresponsible!" Tonks exclaimed, "He could be seen! He could be captured!"

"We have to—"

"No, we're not going to look for him," said Sirius, firmly, "Harry needs a bit of space, and chasing after him won't be productive."

"But without a wand..." Tonks worried.

"Well... he did take his invisibility cloak." Hermione was still looking in Harry's trunk. "But..."

"He'll be back. All of you, no sense in getting all worked up about it."

In the kitchen a short while later, the major members of the Order were gathered, discussing what to do next.

"He'll have to be watched closely from here on out," said Mrs. Weasley, "The things that go through a young man's mind at the best of times... and with this..."

"We know, Molly," said Dumbledore, from his place at the end of the table, "I'm asking that he remain here until we learn of a way to have this travesty undone. We will also have to think of contingencies come the end of the school year, if there has been no resolution by then."

"He'll remain here with me," said Sirius, at once.

"As admirable as that is, he must still return to his relatives for at least two weeks out of the summer to recharge the wards. Not doing so could be disastrous."

"You still haven't explained to us why it is so important, Albus. And given Dementors did attack Harry and his cousin close to the house, I somewhat doubt the strength and validity of your supposed wards."

"It involves ancient magic Harry's mother somehow called on."

Sirius had heard that answer before. He closed his eyes, and sucked in a breath. No sense in exploding at the old man—he was unflappable with that regard. Being in charge of a thousand or so students for ten months of the year, he was somewhat immune to someone yelling in his face, or any other sort of tantrum.

"Neither here nor there," said Moody, dismissively, "Back door out to the garden needs to be barred from here on out, only way in or out then's the front door."

Sirius remained quiet, listening as the Order began to plan out his godson's daily life for the foreseeable future. Sirius was by all accounts a prisoner in his own home... and now they were about to do the same with Harry.

No. Being a grown man, and perhaps for good reason, that was fine and dandy... but Harry was fifteen years old. He deserved better than the bad hand he was being dealt. Sirius might not be able to help the Order all that much, but being Harry's godfather... he most certainly could help the boy out... whether Dumbledore liked it or not. Perhaps it was time to put his name and his coin to use.

His musing was interrupted as a crow fluttered in through the window, a sealed scroll in its beak, to land in front of him. This instantly had the attention of the others gathered at the table, as he accepted the scroll, and unrolled it. He read the contents, before setting the scroll alight.

"Excuse me."

"Bad news?" Lupin asked from across the table.

"No, information of a personal matter."

He swept from the room, and climbed the stairs up to the second level. The note couldn't have arrived at a more opportune time. Sirius entered the room Harry had been sharing with Ron—Ron was elsewhere at the moment, which was more than convenient. He shut the lid to Harry's trunk, and shrunk it down so it could be tucked away in a pocket, then twisted on the spot, and Disapparated with a soft _pop_.

Sirius arrived a moment later in an alcove just off of Diagon Alley, not far from Gringotts. Sure, it was a massive risk to be out in public, but his godson needed his help, and after what he'd just been listening to back at his mother's house... no, the risk was more than worth it. He touched his wand to the top of his head, silently casting a disillusionment charm on himself, before stepping out of the shadows, and entering the bank.

The goblin guards at the door both gave him a menacing grin, making him aware they knew of his presence.

"I'm here at a manager's request," he spoke, before crossing the floor to a teller. Luckily, with it being afternoon tea, the bank was not all that busy. He removed the disillusionment charm.

"What do you want, wizard?" the teller all but demanded.

"My godson, Harry Potter, is with an account manager. He's asked me to be present for ongoing business dealings."

"I see. Wait here."

The goblin disappeared behind the counter, and was gone for a few minutes. He then returned, saying, "Follow me, please."

A few minutes later, they arrived at a large, ornate door. The goblin rapped the door with his knuckles, and moments later, came a gruff, "Enter!"

The goblin pushed open the door, revealing an equally opulent office. An older goblin sat behind a large desk, and Harry was seated in a comfortable chair. He stood up at once, a mad grin appearing on his face.

"Sirius!"

"Hey, kiddo. Good thinking, coming here."

"If that is all," said the goblin who'd brought Sirius to the office. The goblin behind the desk waved him off, and so he withdrew, pulling the door closed.

"Harry, we need to get you out of the country," said Sirius, as though it were the most obvious thing.

Harry could only grin.

"Reading my mind, Sirius. Just... my trust vault, I dunno..."

"We'll leave your trust vault alone," said Sirius, glancing at the nameplate on the desk, "Griphook. I will need Barstock, my account manager present."

Griphook made a gesture at the door, and seconds later, a goblin stepped into the room.

"Send for Barstock," Griphook ordered.

The younger goblin left at once.

"What is it you have in mind?" Griphook questioned.

"I'm naming Harry my Heir Apparent," Sirius answered.

"Well then. Indeed, we will need the assistance of Barstock on this matter," said Griphook.

"Sirius. I mean, I only needed—"

"Whatever you might have come up with, trust me, this will work out much better. Both financially, and in a magical sense. Though I will need a bit of time to sort out the magical side of things."

"What... what will it mean?"

"Independence. Being named official heir to the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black, declares you an adult in all matters legal and financial," Sirius explained, "At least, that's how I understand it."

"And your understanding of the matter is entirely correct," said Griphook.

"Good. Which then moves us to another piece of business. That Harry be given proper Muggle identification."

Griphook gave a nod, and began scribbling something on a piece of parchment. He placed it on a tray at the corner of the desk, and it instantly vanished.

"We should have those for you in about a half hour."

"My... what will other places think of me... I mean, with me being convicted by the Wizengamot..."

"I think you'll make out more than fine, Harry," said Sirius, "And remember, no matter where you go, I'm just an owl post away. I expect you'll keep me updated with what you're doing. We'll get you squirrelled away out from under the headmaster's influence, hopefully get you set up with some decent teachers—if not getting you enrolled in a school someplace."

"If you're willing to spend some coin, Gringotts could offer a disguise that will keep you from being recognized and questioned," Griphook offered.

"How much will it cost?"

"Four thousand galleons."

"Take it from the Black vault then. If it'll help protect my godson," said Sirius, producing his key, and sliding it across the desk.

"Sirius..."

"Harry, that sort of purchase would mean absolutely nothing at the end of the day," Sirius answered, "When Barstock gets here, you'll understand."

Harry's mind was going into overdrive at this point. The meeting was proving to be far more productive than he could have hoped for. With access to a deep coin purse, he'd be able to go just about anywhere. Of course, it would have to be someplace they still spoke English. As tempting as France was (maybe he could meet up with the Delecours again)... no, learning the language would be a learning curve he didn't want to take on.

Beside the point, he wanted to put at least an ocean in between him and Dumbledore and the English ministry of magic and Voldemort and his minions. So, somewhere in the colonies. The United States, or Canada. Mexico, but... no, same problem as France. He was set against learning a new language at this point.

Australia and New Zealand were also possibilities, and that would be putting more than an ocean between him and England, and perhaps a whole bunch of time zones to boot. ...no, that wouldn't work either. The post would be a nightmare. Even being separated by an ocean would mean one hell of a flight for any owl. So, the United States, or Canada.

"Harry..."

"Huh?"

"You were staring off into space," said Sirius.

"Thinking."

"Ah. Look. Something else you need to think about, is changing your name. You have your astronomy textbook from last year?"

"Yeah. Still not had a chance to sort through the things in my trunk. You brought it, right?"

"Of course."

Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes, and produced Harry's trunk, and handed it over.

"The documentation you've requested will update itself should you change your disguise," said Griphook.

"Perfect."

"Right. So as I was saying... the Blacks... we're generally named after stars or constellations."

"Right... such as you being named after the brightest star in the night sky," Harry grinned.

"Exactly. Another example, my brother Regulus, being named after a star in the Leo constellation."

"Got it. Uh... could you un-shrink my trunk for me?"

"Just hold on. I need you to do that sort of thing... both coming up with a new name for yourself, and where you're going... without me knowing about it. If I don't know, Albus won't be able to weasel the information out of me."

"You mean he can read minds," Harry guessed.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Legilimency," said Griphook, "Perhaps your headmaster is gifted with it."

"What is it—"

Harry couldn't finish, as the door opened, and another goblin entered the office. This one was older than Griphook.

"I was summoned," he said, gruffly.

"Barstock, good to see you again. I have a few matters that need to be settled regarding the estate..." Sirius began.

By the end of the meeting, Harry felt a little overwhelmed, if he were honest. There was what felt like a mountain of paperwork requiring his signature, including one which required the use of a rather special quill that wrote in the user's blood. Harry was most certainly startled at the instrument, but Sirius had put him at ease, saying, "It's only meant for document-signing. Using it for anything else is considered criminal."

A privacy charm had been erected at one point, and Griphook had questioned Harry as to where he wanted to go, so they could sort out travel arrangements. His choice given, Griphook had written a short note, and placed it in the tray at the corner of the desk, where it vanished immediately.

The last thing to take place in the meeting, was the retrieval of the Heir's ring. It was a simple silver ring, with an emerald-coloured stone as the setting. When Harry slipped it on, it instantly adjusted itself to fit. Up to now, Harry hadn't really worn any sort of jewelry, so it was a first.

They went their separate ways in the lobby. Harry watched Sirius leave the bank altogether, and a fleeting image crossed his mind—a strange doorway with a curtain, fluttering gently in a non-existent breeze, Sirius flying back into it. Had he just seen his godfather for the last time? Part of him wanted to chase after him, to say good bye one more time, but... no. That was nonsense. They would be in touch in a few days by owl post.

In the meantime, Harry slipped the goblin-made bracelet on his wrist, and could feel the enchantment taking hold. He had one more errand to run, before heading off to Heathrow International Airport; his flight was scheduled for just after 8 o'clock.

The errand took him into Knockturn alley, hence the necessity of him applying the disguise while inside the bank. Knockturn alley was a most unsavoury place, and showing his face there as _Harry Potter_ would not end well. He only had to remember the incident three years prior, when he'd been spit out the wrong gate, ending up in _Borgin and Burkes_. The folk in the alley were about ready to eat him alive, and likely would have, if not for Hagrid. Now, with his new disguise, by all intents and purposes, he looked like a much younger Sirius Black. He had longer, wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders, a slightly taller but narrower face, and blue eyes. Sirius had changed the shape of his glasses, and so now, there was no hint of who he truly was.

Sirius had given him the address of a shop that sold second-hand wands, and it was there Harry now found himself.

"Can I help you?" questioned the surly shopkeeper, seeming to size Harry up.

Harry smiled, and put his left hand on the counter, displaying the Black heir ring. "I need a replacement wand."

"OH. Uh, r-r-right away, Mr. Black," the shopkeeper stammered. He'd actually taken a step back, and Harry couldn't help but smirk. Oh yes, the Blacks most definitely had a reputation, which still carried forward to this day.

The shopkeeper was gone in the back for several minutes, giving Harry a chance to look around. Much like Borgin and Burkes, the place had to be just as creepy, with artefacts and the like which the ministry would most certainly frown on. Was that... a baby's corpse, preserved in a bottle? Gods. Harry was ready to bolt for the door, screw the—

"Here we are, Mr. Black. They will likely not work as well as the wand you are replacing, but—"

Harry waved the shopkeeper off, and picked up the first wand in the offering. It was long... longer than his holly wand, with a light wood. He pointed it at the floor, and gave it a flick, resulting in a yellow flash of magic.

"Definitely not."

He tried the next, this time getting a purple blast that sent several trinkets flying off a nearby shelf. The shopkeeper frowned, while Harry proceeded to try another. This one garnered no reaction at all. It might as well have been a wooden dowel, rather than a wand.

"What are you playing at?!" Harry hissed.

"I... apologies for the mix up. Say, I'll knock ten percent off the price."

"Twenty."

"But... all right," the shopkeeper relented, while Harry picked up yet another.

This continued for nearly a halfl-hour, before he finally found a wand that would be suitable. It was of a red-coloured wood, slightly shorter than his holly wand, but... it worked half-decently.

"This one," he declared.

"I'm sure you realize, Mr. Black, it won't be cheap."

"I am quite aware, yes. There is one further item I require—actually two. The first, being a port key to Heathrow International Airport, and the second, being your silence. I will pay two-thousand galleons for those items."

The shopkeeper blinked. A Black, being generous, not haggling over price? This was a new one.

"Deal."

* * *

><p>It was well after dark before Sirius returned to his mother's townhouse. Most of the Order had left by this point, but Dumbledore was still there. So were Snape, and Moody. Molly was puttering about the kitchen, but stopped, seeing Sirius enter.<p>

"Where's Harry, Sirius?" Dumbledore questioned him, sharply.

Sirius glanced at the kitchen's clock, and gave a mad grin as though he'd just pulled off a grand prank. "Well, I should think he's on an international flight out of the country."

"Of all the irresponsible things you could have done, Sirius Black!" Molly fumed, "Why?!"

"Because he's my godson," Sirius answered, "And he asked for my help. And before you go on asking where he's going, I have no clue. I chose to be out of earshot when arrangements were made as to his destination, so as to avoid this exact line of questioning.

"You all were about to do to Harry the exact same thing you're doing to me. He's a fifteen-year-old boy, not some chess piece. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you realize just how shabbily you've been treating him. He needed his friends around, not being locked away with his horrible relatives—and don't think I don't know about how they treated him, Albus!"

"Sirius. It was necessary—"

"Yes, and I've heard that before. That's an excuse, and nothing more."

Sirius blew out a breath, and took a seat at the table.

"At this point, it really doesn't matter. I've taken steps to insure you'll keep your paws off him from here on out, the least of which being helping him leave the country. I think, if James and Lily were still alive, they'd flay you alive, Albus!"

"Yet as you said yourself, he's a fifteen-year-old boy, Sirius! And you've sent him out of the country on his own! How do you expect him to survive?!" Molly blustered.

"I think he's much smarter than you give him credit for," Sirius shot back, "All of you too busy with your mollycoddling to realize that."

"And his arrogance will only get him killed," Snape sneered, "Just like his father..."

"One more comment like that, I'll throw you out of here on your arse, _Snivellus_," Sirius hissed.

"Now gentlemen, let's not be at each other," Dumbledore tried.

"Contrary to what notions people might have here, this is my house, and you are all guests. If Snape can't control his tongue, then he'll take it elsewhere."

"Sirius, that's not productive," Dumbledore admonished him.

"I have to assume you did more than just stuff him on a plane," said Moody, gruffly.

"Oh yes, much more. I won't go into detail, but know that he's been very well taken care of. He'll return when the time is right... when he's had a chance to regroup and collect himself emotionally. The point being, he'll not be your poster child, your chess piece any longer, Albus. Unlike my worthless mother, I take care of family... and Harry is family."

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: We find out where Harry spends the remainder of the summer, and a terrible incident at the beginning of September has frightening implications.<em>


	3. The Death of Harry Potter

_Posted November 23, 2014  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __We find out where Harry spends the remainder of the summer, and a terrible incident at the beginning of September has frightening implications._

* * *

><p><strong>3. THE DEATH OF HARRY POTTER<br>August/September, 2005**

"_Life is an endless cycle of souls, swirling along the path of the universe, being reborn, but never truly dying before being reborn again._

_As long as this cycle continues, we will never really die."_

_- Ameila Wolfe_

* * *

><p><em>August 11, 2005<br>Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_

The past week had been more than stressful for the kids staying in the old townhouse. Sirius had most certainly informed them of what happened, but it didn't really put any of their minds at ease; they all missed their friend.

At present, they were all gathered in the back garden, wanting to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The kitchen was presently off limits, as yet another meeting of some sort was taking place.

Their hushed conversation was interrupted, as a brown owl descended to land in front of Hermione, an envelope secured to one of its legs. Hermione quickly undid the string, relieving the owl of its burden, and it took off from whence it came. She let out a gasp of surprise, recognizing the handwriting.

_Hermione and all,_

_I know I probably should have written you much sooner than this, but it's taken me this long to get my thoughts somewhat organized. I've had much to think about since I left England last week, and only now can I really put some of it into words, if that makes any sense. I know everyone is likely rather upset with me, and in some ways I don't blame any of you. _

_The thing is, no one has ever asked what I wanted, what I needed. I'm tired of being taken for granted, of being looked upon as nothing but a tool, to be wielded and then discarded. That's all Dumbledore and the Order—Sirius excluded—thinks I am. Well I'm not!_

_When Voldemort came back, I was simply shuffled off back to the Dursleys, left to my own thoughts—of course, on Dumbledore's orders. He forbade any of you from contacting me, afraid information might get into the wrong hands. I believe that's a load of shite, because there were other ways we could have talked to each other. Besides, who is he to dictate what I do and who I talk to outside of Hogwarts?_

_Then, while trapped with my useless relatives, the ministry tried to assassinate me. Yes, Hermione, that's _exactly_ what they tried to do. Let's not sugar-coat it. And when that failed, they hauled me in front of the full weight of the Wizengamot because I defended myself and my worthless cousin! I'm sure you all know very well the outcome by this point._

_Thing is, it all comes down to this. Wizarding Britain has made it quite clear they don't wish for me to be around, and so I oblige their wish. I won't tell you where I've gone, since it's very likely that information will land in the wrong hands—namely Dumbledore. Sirius thinks he can do something called legilimency—read peoples' minds. So don't take my choices the wrong way. But anyway, I'm presently taking some time to myself, enjoying some personal freedom. It's done wonders, I'll tell you that much._

_D'you know that, since I've arrived in... well, the place I'm in... I've not had all that many nightmares or the like? I typically sleep very well for a change. Maybe it's the fresh air or a new place, but... it's been very good for my mental state, I'll tell you that much._

_At this point, I plan on obtaining private tutors and teachers for my fifth year, and likely sit my OWLs next spring. You know this year's important, right? Of course you do._

_Anyway, guess I should say this, that I do miss all of you, and I wish I could have said good bye to your faces, but... with the Order swarming around the place, I couldn't risk coming back. If you guys want to keep in touch, give any letters to Sirius, he'll make sure I get them._

_You guys are my best friends and always will be._

_Love,_

_Harry_

"Well, who's it from?" Ron pressed.

"It's from Harry," Hermione answered.

"He's all right? Where is he?"

"He didn't say."

"Is he coming back?" asked Ginny.

"No, he's not," Hermione answered, sounding frustrated. Perhaps some of the frustration was toward Harry himself, but really, the fault lay at the feet of the Order. They hadn't exactly supported him in the little time he'd been at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place... instead, they were treating him no differently than Sirius—a virtual prisoner.

* * *

><p><em>September 1, 2005<br>Ottawa Ontario, Canada_

The last few weeks had been a stark contrast to the earlier part of Harry's summer. The past two weeks had been spent in Ottawa, Canada's capitol city, as there seemed to be an unending list of things to see and do. That had been the case when he visited Niagara Falls for a few days. And Toronto... same thing. Canadian locals were brilliant with making suggestions of things to take in.

Within a week of being in the country, Harry had revised his plan, deciding to take at least the remainder of the year for himself, then reevaluate matters come the beginning of January. As he was quickly discovering, Canada was an enormous country, and if he ever ran out of things to see and do there, he could always cross the border into the United States.

It hadn't taken him long to learn of the location of the Wizarding community, both in Toronto and Ottawa. Ottawa's magical community was somewhat smaller, and Harry quickly learned the Canadian ministry was actually located in Toronto. It was confusing, until he picked up some literature which gave a brief overview of the magical community.

Much like the non-magical nation, the English-speaking seat of commerce had been established in Toronto, long before it was named as such, and some time before Ottawa became the nation's capitol. Harry was no history buff, but it proved to be a fascinating day and a half, as he learned about the country he was visiting.

Of course, it also did serve somewhat of a practical purpose, in that he had a rough understanding of the basic law of the land. Last thing he needed was to be arrested and dumped into a ministry holding cell. He'd already suffered the indignity of a trial—something he wished to never repeat.

Back to the present, Harry had at last checked out of his room at the _Westin Ottawa_. He'd debated about going with the much more expensive _Chateau Laurier_ across the street, but at nearly two-hundred dollars Canadian a night, he couldn't justify it. And all the same, the final bill for his stay in Ottawa was crazy expensive.

Not that it mattered a whole lot. The first time Harry had sent an owl back to London with the total of expenditures in Toronto, Sirius had only laughed in the letter back, saying, "_Long as you're having fun, kiddo. Money's no good unless it's being spent. My dear old mother's about died twice hearing of your ongoing expenditures, so keep it up!_"

Harry had to smile at the memory, as he checked his bag at the Ottawa train station. He found it strange that the train station was actually some distance away from the downtown. Not exactly convenient. Alas, it didn't matter a whole lot; the concierge at the hotel was more then helpful in both arranging a train ticket, as well as a taxi to get him to the station. He'd left a rather sizable gratuity for the help.

Shortly after, while the _Hogwarts Express_ was already steaming northward, over four thousand miles away and five hours ahead of local time, Harry was at last on board a train heading back to Toronto, with the intention of taking in the _Canadian National Exhibition_, or CNE for short, the largest of its kind in the country. Thus far, he'd been pretty lucky with tickets, being delayed only once in arranging passage. The bus, of course, tended to be much easier, but Harry preferred to travel by rail, given the smoother ride. In addition, travelling by train tended to be quicker.

He'd visited the local Wizarding shopping district the previous afternoon, dropping a letter in the mail for Hermione. He'd written express instructions on the envelope to not open it until she was on the train. "_This will have to stand in for me being on the train with you_", he'd written at the top of the envelope.

With thoughts on his friends returning to Hogwarts for another school year being shoved to the back of his mind, he took time to do more reading on various other things he might like to see. The CNE would be the first Muggle fair he'd attended, and he somewhat lamented the fact that he was doing it alone rather than with his friends. Maybe in the future...

The train lurched for some reason. They weren't near their destination, right? He remembered hearing Kingston, but... no there was a few other stops since. Yet, the train was beginning to slow.

"_Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please. Due to mechanical issues with the train, we will have an extended stop at Oshawa. Passengers may detrain if they wish, but are reminded to keep their boarding pass on their person._

"_Bon après-midi, mesdames et messieurs, si je pouvais avoir votre attention s'il vous plaît..._"

Harry tuned out the rest of the announcement, since he didn't speak french, choosing to turn back to the brochure. Of course, that didn't last long, as the train was indeed slowing down, the locomotive's bell now clanging, a warning they were approaching the station. Perhaps, then, getting out and stretching the legs might not be a bad thought.

Oshawa's train station was quite small, compared with the various stations Harry had already been through. The hall itself contained two separate sets of ticket windows. Three of them were set at an angle along the south wall, handling _VIA Rail_ customers. Four others were set up along the east wall, and they served the government-run regional transit system, _GO Transit_.

Since he was there, Harry collected a _GO Transit_ timetable. Perhaps it would be a little cheaper than _VIA_. 'Well. Much more frequently,' he thought, as he ran a finger down the schedule. A train left for downtown Toronto in twenty-five minutes—and who knew when the _VIA_ train would be fixed. So, how difficult to make the switch?

Frustratingly, _VIA_ wouldn't refund the final part of the trip... but the fare to downtown Toronto on the _GO_ train was only six-fifty. And the train left in less than twenty-five minutes. So, it was an easy sell. He noticed he wasn't the only one making such a choice.

Stepping back outside, he noticed a poster plastered to the side of one of the newspaper distribution boxes. The top half of the poster featured a picture of a steam locomotive. It looked brilliant, save for the fact there seemed to be a giant sitting on it... wait a minute.

_LABOUR DAY WEEKEND _

_Live Steaming Days & Historic Equipment Exhibition_

_Miniature train rides, steam tractors, historic equipment,_

_Midway rides and games_

_10 am – midnight Fri, Saturday, and Sunday_

_10 am – 7 pm on Holiday Monday_

_Durham Live Steamers – 27 Bennett Rd., Bowmanville ON_

Now it all made sense. It was some sort of scale model railway. Harry had never heard of such a thing, but granted, considering his somewhat sheltered existence in the Muggle world up to this point, it was no wonder. Harry pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled down the information, deciding to perhaps check it out... maybe on Monday, the holiday.

As was expected, when the _GO_ train pulled out of the station heading west, the _VIA_ train still sat there, a number of passengers still milling around. Perhaps their final destination wasn't Toronto... so the regional system wasn't an option. At this point, it really didn't matter a whole lot to Harry. Hotel arrangements had already been settled before he'd left Ottawa, and given the fact he carried very little (at least visually), it was nothing for him to move about quickly.

* * *

><p><em>September 2<em>

Visiting the _CNE_ proved not to be the exciting adventure Harry had expected. The rides were kind of cool, although nothing like the exhilarating thrill that came from riding his broom. And, there were a number of them where the operators wouldn't let him ride alone. Even more irritating, was how rude some of the operators were. Didn't they understand the phrase, 'Customer service'? A number of the guys running the rides looked more like thugs and criminals, rather than ambassadors of the company. Harry decided he would be doing something else tomorrow.

Of course, the experience wasn't a complete washout. The air show, which had run earlier in the day had been fascinating. Harry was in no way familiar with the various aircraft that paraded about in the skies, but still found himself almost enthralled by the pilots' skills. In some ways, he could easily place himself in their shoes, considering he also flew, even if his 'aircraft' was only a thin stick with bristles and stirrups. Oh, and his flight speed was restricted to no more than a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

The human cannonball was immensely entertaining, as was the _SuperDogs_ competition. Harry had to smirk, watching the highly-skilled canines be put through their paces. 'Let's see aunt Marge's foul mutts do something like _that_', he thought.

The evening at last drew to a close, with a spectacular display of fireworks at the waterfront, and with that, Harry headed north across the grounds to get a streetcar back downtown. Of course, that was clearly the idea of about a hundred thousand others, or so it seemed, as the waiting platform was crammed with people and their hard-earned prizes from the midway. Merlin, some of the stuffed toys were larger than the person carrying them!

* * *

><p><em>Saturday, September 3<em>

Harry had gotten up incredibly early, going on perhaps five hours' sleep. Taking advantage of the continental breakfast, he then made some inquiries about the live steam event in Bowmanville. Being that far away, perhaps it might be a thought to pick up a room in Oshawa, rather than travelling all the way back into Toronto. Equally, what was the transit service like out that way on a weekend (or a holiday, for that matter)?

As Harry had suspected, the service was poor at best. The _GO_ train actually terminated in a place called Pickering, with a bus connection to Bowmanville(1). The stop itself, at Hwy 2 and Bennett Road, nearly a mile and a half away from his final destination. No matter what, there was a lengthy walk involved. It was a good thing he'd gotten up early, then.

Finding a place to stay in Oshawa, on the other hand, proved a little less difficult. There were several motels not far from the train station. Recalling the less-than-stellar visit to the _CNE_ on the previous day, Harry realized it would have been better to stay in Oshawa. Oh well. Too late now.

It was 11:30 before he arrived at the event—an elderly couple had been kind enough to give him a lift, picking him up just south of the motorway. He'd offered a few dollars as thanks, but the kind couple simply waved it off. It once again made Harry smile, to be shown such a level of kindness.

The grounds themselves—clearly that of a private residence, were now crawling with visitors. On the other side of the road, a number of amusement rides were set up, and if Harry had to admit, the handful of rides being presented there looked in much better shape than the ones he'd seen the day before at the Exhibition. One of them looked insanely high, with two wheels attached to a larger main boom... "Skywheel" was scrawled out in an outlandish font on the side of one of the supports. A tractor trailer, if Harry remembered correctly. Hmmm... would they let him ride alone?

The main property seemed crammed with historic cars, farm equipment, and... he could see the miniature train off in the distance, with what looked like about twenty people sitting on top of the cars. For the first time ever, Harry felt more like a kid rather than an adult in a kid's body. He was already making a bee-line for the loading area, where people were queueing up for their turn. 'Yep. Definitely should have done this yesterday, rather than the CNE,' Harry snorted, in his head.

When he got to the front of the queue, he found a large donation box. Without hesitating, he reached into his pouch and summoned a fifty-dollar-note, and stuffed it in. Fifty dollars well spent, in his opinion. Better than spending money on tickets for rides he couldn't go on.

"Thanks for the d-d-d-donation."

"Not a problem," Harry grinned, turning to face the speaker.

He had to be Harry's age, if not a year or so older, with a rectangular face, slightly messy coppery red hair that fell just below his ears, and light blue eyes. And tall. Bloody hell, the young man had to be at least six foot five. He was dressed in a pair of black overalls and a white tee shirt—at least, it had been white at one point, but was now specked with many black spots, much like the rest of him. He was dirty, and smelled like... coal smoke. Harry remembered that smell from the Hogwarts Express. One of the drivers, then.

"B-b-been a while since we g-got that kind of donation."

"You drive one of the trains?"

"Y-yeah. My b-b... I mean, my friend's giving me a break. I'm Ryan, b-b-by the way."

"Oh. It's Rasalas," said Harry, offering a hand.

Ryan shook it, though rather weakly, then said, "S-sorry 'bout the weak shake. Hand doesn't w-w-work all that well sometimes."

"It's all right. So... uh, you run this event, or—"

"There's a bunch of us, actually. I take it you've never s-s-s-seen something like this before."

"Nope. But... it's fascinating," Harry answered, "I spotted a flyer in Oshawa on Friday after the train broke down."

Ryan let out a snort. "Leave it t-t-to _VIA_. It's what they get, skimping on the m-maitenence. Took them four hours to f-f-f-fix it, 'least that's what Da says."

Harry could only grin. "Of course, I regret going into Toronto. Should've come here yesterday, instead of taking in the _CNE_. First time this summer I've actually been disappointed in an attraction—or group of attractions."

"You're here alone?"

"Yeah. Since the beginning of August."

Ryan let out a chuckle. "Usually it's us th-th-that's doing the tourist thing in your part of the w-w-w-w-world. So how you finding the colonies?"

"I'd make it permanent if I could," Harry answered, "For reasons I don't want to get into."

Ryan gave a weak smile.

"D-d-didn't mean to pry. Oh. Here comes Aaron. Let me introduce y-y-you."

Aaron was as short as Ryan was tall. The guy was actually shorter than Harry was without his disguise—and Harry wasn't all that tall. He had a more heart-shaped face with a tall chin, brown eyes, and short hair, the colour of which Harry could only guess, it being so short. Most of it was covered by a wool cap, and he was dressed identically to his friend.

"New friend?" Aaron spoke with a rough, gravelly voice, and in a way, Harry thought it fit his frame.

"Th-this is Rasalas, he's visiting f-f-from England."

"Oh. Well. Welcome. You been on anything yet?"

"He just s-s-s-s-stuffed a fifty into the d-donation box."

"Really. That's awesome, man."

"Would it be possible for me to have a go on that?" Harry pointed to the Skywheel.

"Come on. Think we can take a break," Aaron grinned.

* * *

><p>All in all, it was an epic day as far as attractions went. In addition to the steam trains (Harry quickly discovered there were at least six running on the miniature track which circulated most of the property), there were three enormous steam-powered tractors, one of which was pulling a wagon that carried passengers. There were dozens of antique vehicles, about twice as many antique tractors, various pieces of antique farm equipment, and a handful of stationary steam engines.<p>

The small midway also included a few concessions that offered poor nutrition choices, but most definitely yummy, greasy, sugary delights. Between Ryan and his friend, they had coaxed Harry to try all the rides, and by the time darkness fell, he was physically spent.

"Crap... it... I have to get the bus back into Oshawa," Harry realized.

"N-uh-uh. We'll loan you a tent," said Aaron.

"Many thanks. Wasn't looking forward to the trek back up to highway two. An older couple were kind enough to provide a lift down from the motorway," said Harry.

They were then crossing the inner yard to the house. It was an older, two-storey home with large windows, a porch that seemed to drape itself around three sides, finished in white clapboard.

"Lots of p-p-people stick around over the weekend," said Ryan, "Just a s-s-s-s-second, I'll be back."

He climbed the few stairs to the porch, and disappeared into the house.

"So when you heading back to the U.K.?" asked Aaron.

"Don't know. When I wear out my welcome, I guess. I'm set financially, and there still seems to be a gazillion places to visit here. I mean, should that ever run out, there's always crossing the border into the States."

"You're rich then," Aaron guessed.

"Err... something like that."

"Or a criminal mastermind."

That had Harry giggling a moment.

"How about no," he answered, seriously.

That only earned another laugh out of Aaron, as Ryan reappeared from the house, bringing a long box.

"C-c-come over this way, we'll help you set it up..."

* * *

><p>Thanks to a few liberally-applied cushioning charms, Harry got a reasonably good night's sleep. He'd borrowed a telephone and settled his account back at the motel in Oshawa, since it was no longer needed. Ryan had invited him to stay for the remainder of the weekend.<p>

So it was, that he awoke to the smell of breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, and a few other smells wafted across the grounds. Harry had to admit, it was a pretty good alarm clock, if his growling stomach was anything to go by. The typical continental breakfasts provided by the hotels would have nothing on a homemade, hot breakfast.

He pulled a pair of shorts on, along with a clean tee shirt, then crawled out of the tent; it was big enough that he could almost stand up inside, but the door made that a little awkward. Once outside, he got to his feet, and simply followed his nose.

Breakfast was being served under a larger, dark-coloured tent. There were a number of picnic tables set up, and a number of people were already enjoying the food being provided. He quickly joined the queue.

"mornin'."

"Oh. Err... good morning," said Harry, recognizing Aaron. He too, had gone with shorts and a tee shirt, rather than the overalls he was wearing the day before.

"You wanna give us a hand for a bit?"

"Sure."

As they ate, Harry asked, "So this... event... you guys do it every year?"

"I've only been involved with it for a couple," Aaron answered, "Ryan's my b-best friend, right. He pulled me into it, but I don't regret it. It's work, but it's a ton of fun."

"I think no matter where I am next year this time, I'm coming back, an' maybe I'll drag all my friends over here with me. Much better than the CNE was."

Aaron let out a snort. "Waste of money. Never mind how they skimp on the maintenance. 'least that's what Mr. Sawyer says—he's Ryan's dad, and an expert in... well just about anything mechanical, I guess. Had lots to say a few years ago when the Wave Swinger broke; a bunch of people got hurt."

"Really?" Harry made a face. "I was on that the other day."

"Oh, they've improved somewhat, but still. You're still takin' your life in your hands down there."

When they finished, Aaron said, "You don't mind getting a bit dirty, no?"

"Long as there's a place I can get cleaned up."

"Yeah, we have that." Aaron grinned. "Ready to have some real fun?"

"Lead on," Harry grinned right back.

* * *

><p><em>Late evening, September 5<em>

The past three days had gone by in a blur of food, conversation, rides, games, more rides, more food, and just a load of fun. Both the nights he'd spent there had been just as entertaining, with a large group of people gathering around a bonfire. It was definitely a first time activity for Harry, something he hoped to do again. Perhaps he would return the next year.

When the event closed at sundown, Ryan offered to drive Harry back into Oshawa, but he politely declined, not wanting to encroach on the family's hospitality any further than he'd done already. The walk back up to Hwy 2 would be a good thing, and since it wouldn't be all that difficult to get a hotel room in Oshawa, it wouldn't be a terribly long trip. They had still shared contact information, as Harry definitely wished to return the following summer if at all possible.

By the time he reached the overpass that crossed the expressway, it was nearly dark. Harry wasn't too concerned, knowing the bus still ran until late into the evening... it was only a little after 8 o'clock. Of course, if someone would give him a lift...

A battered truck drove past, and the brake lights came on. 'Great timing,' Harry thought.

A voice called out, "Where 'ya headed?"

Harry suddenly had the sense something was... off. But... no, nothing. He'd encountered nothing but friendly faces and warm hospitality since arriving in the country a month prior.

"Up to—" he began to answer, when something struck him on the back of the head. His lights were out before he hit the ground, his arms flailing about.

"C'mon. The kid put a fifty in the Sawyers' donation box, he's gotta be loaded," said an older man, climbing out of the cab.

"Hey, check this out," said the passenger, kneeling down on their victim's left side, "Bet that ring's worth a fortune." The others quickly joined him.

He reached down, and tried to pull the ring off, and was given the shock of his life for his efforts.

"Well? Let's see what he's got."

He was younger than the others, and a little impatient, grabbing the satchel.

"There's got to be money in here."

He turned the satchel upside down, and shook it. A few papers and a few small trinkets fell out of it, but no money. And why did it feel so light? The thug snatched up one of the papers that fell out, but flung it to the wind.

"Maybe there's an inside pocket or something," suggested one of the others.

"Good thinking."

The crook's eagerness was repaid in deadly kind when he tried to reach into the satchel. Since he was the one to initiate the attack in the first place, the goblin enchantments on the pouch meted out deadly consequences. There came a brilliant flash of angry flames, and the assailant and would-be thief was roasted to a crisp.

The surviving pair couldn't have _Apparated_ faster, retreating back to the still-running truck, slamming it into gear and peeling off with the squeal of tires. Harry was left at the side of the road on the overpass, the life slowly leaving him, much like day was giving way to night. With that very essence seeping away back to the earth from which it came, a number of spells and enchantments placed on him were either dispelled, or modified.

* * *

><p><em>CHAPTER NOTES: (1) All-day service on weekends and holidays did not extend to Oshawa until the end of 2006. And still, to get to this location (Bennett Rd &amp; Hwy 2), you would still need to take a bus, although currently it's out of the Oshawa GO station.<em>


	4. The Birth of Rasalas Black

_Posted November 24, 2014._

_SUMMARY: Harry is saved from the brink of death, and rushed into Toronto by air ambulance; and from there, wakes up sometime later to a scary new reality. A pair of new friends he can barely remember provide much-needed support, and offer a clue as to the identity of the good Samaritan who came to his rescue._

* * *

><p><strong>4. THE BIRTH OF RASALAS BLACK<br>September, 2005**

"_The report of my death was an exaggeration."_

_- Mark Twain_

* * *

><p><em>Early hours,<br>Tuesday, September 6, 2005  
>401 Highway, west of Newcastle Ontario<em>

The normally-busy 401 Highway was somewhat deserted at this particular hour of the night, with very little traffic—other than the odd truck. The holiday was over, and so was summer, unofficially. Students (at least most of them) returned to class that morning, and routines were reestablished after lengthy summer holidays.

That was neither here nor there, as a custom tour bus made its way westward, an eighteen-wheeler following not far behind. Brady Gibson was a relatively new artist on the country music scene, and was just now wrapping up the very short Canadian leg of his first headline tour. He had one more show in Toronto, before heading back into the U.S., and a lengthy break.

Even with the late (or early) hour, Brady was still very much awake, as they steadily rolled west. There was most definitely a comfortable bed in the back, but something... something was keeping him from rest. An unsettling feeling, like—

The bus was slowing suddenly.

"Why're we stopping?" Brady questioned.

"I saw... hold on..."

"_What's going on?_" came the question over the radio, as the bus came to a stop.

"Hang on," said the driver, pressing the button to open the door.

He stood up, and exited the vehicle, with Brady following close behind, hurriedly throwing on his jacket—the air had taken on a damp chill, the hallmark of a late-summer morning. The driver was shining a flashlight about and—

The pale face of a young man was momentarily framed in the beam of the light, before falling out of it. The sound of a soft body collapsing to the ground immediately followed. The driver hurried over, with Brady following.

The driver of the rig that was following behind the bus was hurrying over, bringing a much better light. He quickly focused the light on the scene, and both the driver and Brady were horrified by what they found.

It was definitely a young man—nineteen or twenty, perhaps. Blood was coming from his ears, nose, and mouth. There were also splotches of blood on his tee shirt, as well as scratches covering his arms and legs. A small pouch was still slung over his shoulder—it was a wonder it was still in place, considering what shape the boy's body was in. His eyes were open but non-responsive; he was quite literally out cold.

"Sweet Jesus," Brady whispered, while the driver produced his mobile, and quickly punched in 9-1-1.

"We need to cover him," said the second driver.

"Uh..." Brady took off his jacket, and covered the victim with it.

The driver of the bus, meanwhile, was speaking with the 9-1-1 dispatcher. "Ambulance... 401 highway westbound lanes, uh... just past... exit four-thirty-five... uh... head injury, I think..."

Brady, meanwhile, reached into the young man's pouch. His hand closed around a wad of bills... not helping. A clump of papers. He pulled them out, and while the second driver held the larger flashlight in a better position, Brady began leafing through them.

"Tourist flyers," he muttered, stuffing them back in the pouch, and digging a bit more.

More papers. Wait. A concert ticket for Brady's show in Toronto on Tuesday night. The irony. That wasn't helping at the moment, though. He kept sifting through the receipts, spent train tickets, more flyers... ah ha.

"An address. Might be someone important." He stuffed that one in the pocket of his jeans, and leafed through the rest. "The kid has'ta have I.D."

He stuffed that batch of papers back in the pouch as well, and tried again. Third time was a charm, as his hand closed around a small, black booklet.

"Jackpot... a passport. An' this bag's fucked up." He opened the passport. "Rasalas Antares Black."

"The cops'll get things sorted out, 'B."

It was some time before there came a wail of sirens, as a pair of police cars came roaring down the entrance ramp, an ambulance not far behind. They pulled up along the shoulder, before coming to a stop. The back doors of the ambulance opened, and two paramedics hopped out; one brought a backboard, while the other brought a medic kit. The spotlight mounted on one of the police cars lit up the scene a bit better, while the second car had reversed back to a point behind the rig, and put his lights on.

"What have we got?" asked the paramedic with the medical kit.

"He was wandering along the shoulder," said the bus driver, "We stopped and he collapsed just as we got to him."

The second paramedic had already placed the backboard alongside the victim, and was assessing injuries.

"He was walking alongside the highway?"

"Yeah. Until we got close. Then he just collapsed," the driver answered.

"Shouldn't have been possible. Mike, have an airlift dispatched to Lakeridge Oshawa, he'll need to be sent to Sunnybrook."

The paramedic named Mike pressed the key button on the mic portion of the radio. "Dispatch, we're on scene, requesting airlift."

"_Copy. What's your twenty?_"

"Westbound lanes of the 401 at Bennett Road, over."

While the radio fell silent, a pair of police officers were asking Brady and the two drivers questions.

"_Forty-two, is the patient stable?_"

"Uh, copy."

"Ornge(1)_ will pick up at Lakeridge Oshawa._"

"Copy."

The second paramedic was already filling out a form.

"The victim have any identification?" he asked.

Brady handed over the passport he'd recovered, as well as the slip of paper with the address he'd found in the young man's pouch. The paramedic rapidly copied the victim's name down onto the appropriate place on the form, along with the particulars listed on the passport.

Now, with the help of the second paramedic, Harry was lifted onto the backboard.

"What d'ya figure happened?" Brady asked.

"This wasn't an accident," said the first paramedic, as he glanced at the medical kit, now hooked up to the victim, "My experience, he was beaten."

"My guess too," one of the police officers agreed, "We'll investigate and determine where the primary crime scene is."

One of the paramedics, meanwhile, was headed back to the ambulance to fetch the gurney. The incident was still surreal for Brady, as memories of his own brush with death came to the forefront. It was too easy for him to place himself in the shoes of the young victim, just barely clinging to life.

When the scene was finally cleared, and Brady was once again on his way with his crew, the incident still ate at him. Perhaps he was meant to be there... that God wanted him to be in a place where he could do some good—that Rasalas would benefit from it. No matter. He would have his P.R. people get in contact with the hospital and find out how the kid was doing. And he did want his jacket back...

* * *

><p>"<em>Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"<em>

"_Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…"_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"_

"_This is my last warning—"_

"_Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry Please—I'll do anything—"_

"_Stand aside—stand aside, girl—"(2)_

_A brilliant green flash filled the scene, accompanied by a piercing scream._

The sounds around him were coming back into focus as the piercing scream faded, but the world remained incredibly bright and fuzzy.

"He's coming back to us, a weak pulse," he could hear someone saying.

"Son? Can you hear me?" A fuzzy face was looking down on him, and he got the faint sensation he was moving on some sort of bed. Harry moaned.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Nuh... ow..." Everything hurt. That was the bottom line. 'Where am I?' he thought, but drew a blank.

"Just take it easy, young man," came the voice of a woman to the side, "You've suffered a catastrophic injury." A pause, and then, "Is radiology ready for us?" The world once again dimmed as he succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

><p>When Albus Dumbledore rose the following morning and stepped out of the private bedchamber into his office, he stopped abruptly, as he was treated to a sight he'd hoped never to see.<p>

All the small trinkets resting on his large desk were trembling, black smoke rising from each one of them. Meaning, the worst had happened: Harry had died.

The aged headmaster slumped into his seat behind his desk, eyes fixed on the smoking instruments. How had it happened? Where had it happened? But far worse, now what?

All of his plans still revolved around Harry Potter. Even though he had fled England, up to this point, Albus believed the boy would eventually return to them, and help to destroy the Dark Lord.

A gesture from his wand banished the useless trinkets. He took a few moments to collect himself, before summoning a few of his colleagues. Perhaps a few should know, but for now, he would keep the boy's death quiet.

* * *

><p><em>September 22<em>

The next time Harry came to, he was propped up on a bed, and he could feel a number of wires attached to him. A machine was making a beep-beep-beep sound off to his left, and the room was dimly lit. 'Where am I again?' he questioned in his head, and groped with the last memories he could remember. Flashes of scenes flicked by in his mind's eye, but nothing was making any sense. It was as if everything were scrambled somehow.

He lay there for some time, until eventually a nurse stepped into the room. "Good morning, young man. It's good to see you're at last awake."

"Who... where?" Harry rasped.

"Let me get you a glass of water."

The woman collected a paper cup from a cabinet above the small sink in the room and filled it, then brought it to his bedside. He drank it greedily.

"Where am I?"

"You're at _Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre_. You were brought in nearly three weeks ago with severe head trauma. It was touch and go for a while, but you should be making a full physical recovery."

"Three weeks?"

He made to sit up, but the nurse put a hand on his chest.

"Do take it easy, Mr. Black, you've suffered major head trauma among other things. The neurosurgeon will wish to talk to you this morning, and conduct an assessment as to what sort of long-term damage has been done."

'Black', Harry thought. 'But...' he wracked his brain, trying to remember his name.

"I... I don't remember..."

"It's one of the things the neurosurgeon will go over with you. And I would expect a pair of young men to be visiting you later this afternoon, they've been in to spend time with you nearly every day since you were admitted."

"Young men? Do... I don't remember." Harry sounded frustrated.

"Wait." He looked down at the covers drawn up over his chest. "I... I don't see all that well."

"You need glasses."

Harry simply gave a nod.

"We'll set you up with an optometry appointment then. Just giving you any sort of eye wear might further damage your eyes."

As promised, just after he finished his breakfast, a doctor entered the room. He was short, with balding grey hair and a broad face.

"Mr. Black, how are we feeling?"

"Better, I guess... from what the nurse told me."

"Yes, indeed. You've had quite an ordeal. I'm Dr. Terry Smythe, and I'm a neurosurgeon here at Sunnybrook. We did run a CT-scan when you were brought in, and as we feared, you have suffered a brain injury."

"That's why I don't remember anything, then."

"Yes. You understand our brains are very fragile organs, correct?"

At Harry's nod, the doctor continued, "It takes very little in the form of a bump or jerk to do damage to it. Given the severity of your injury, there is no surprise you remember little about yourself or the past events of your life. This may be a sign of a type of memory loss, what we call _Retrograde Amnesia_."

"Will I get better?"

"Every patient is different. There's a chance you'll wake up one morning remembering everything clear as day, and there's a chance you won't. We still know so little about the brain, you have to understand."

"What... what does that mean for me, then?"

"Let's just worry about getting you back on your feet before we start to think long-term. When the time comes, we'll set you up with an occupational therapist."

"What will they do?"

"Arrange for housing, set you up with schooling or help you prepare for a job, it's entirely up to you what kind of assistance you can obtain."

Harry half-grinned. "Oh. Well... that would be good, then."

"Now. Since you appear to be in relatively good spirits, I assume you aren't feeling any pain or discomfort."

"No sir."

"Good, that's good. Perhaps there was a silver lining with you being in a coma, as your body was given a chance to heal without interruption. You were in very rough shape when you arrived."

"Yeah, so the nurse told me," Harry agreed, "But... remembering nothing. I think I'd rather be in pain."

"Perhaps. I think we do need to establish what memory you do have. Your being able to communicate is a very good sign. You remember then how to look after yourself... visit the lavatory—"

Harry made a face. "Uh, yeah. Guess I should be thankful for that. I still feel..."

"Overwhelmed? It's understandable. And yes, having to re-learn basic personal function would be rather humiliating."

The doctor still ended up asking a series of questions, to determine how much Harry remembered. It did mostly focus on issues of self-care, and most certainly, Harry wasn't all that comfortable answering. Still, understanding it was important, he answered honestly. The doctors were there to help, and dishonesty would get him nowhere.

When the finally doctor left, Harry adjusted the pillows to prop himself up. Three. Weeks. He had been unconscious for three weeks. But honestly, that wasn't the most alarming thing. He didn't even know his own name, other than his last name being Black. And... magic. He remembered vividly flicking a stick—a wand at a feather, causing it to rise into the air. And... a boy with blond hair and a pointed face, conjuring a snake. That... that was a few years ago, though.

Wait. Where were his things? His wand would likely be with them. Surely he hadn't come into—

The answer to his question was collected on a chair in the corner. A small pouch that slung over his shoulder, and... whose jacket was that, hanging on the back of the chair? It might be his, but... where were the rest of his clothes?

* * *

><p>A nurse entered his room shortly after Harry had finished his lunch, and helped him into a wheelchair. The optometrist was on a different floor, and since it was impractical to move the machinery, the patient had to be brought to the equipment. He could see several set-ups, arranged for patients sitting or laying down. Being awake and able to stand (or sit), Harry was led to the upright apparatus.<p>

For the next half hour, Harry's eyesight was tested by the equipment, the optometrist making a number of notes. Once the tests were finished, he was wheeled back up to his room.

He was only alone for a few minutes, when a pair of young men stepped into the room. The first one was seriously tall, with ginger hair partially hidden under a baseball cap that was shoved on backwards. He wore a tee shirt with a dark long-sleeve shirt over top of it, and a pair of work pants. The other was somewhat shorter, with a stocky build, though they dressed very similar. He had dark hair and brown eyes.

Harry suddenly got a flash of a memory... rather fresh, as though it had happened very recently. The taller of the pair, being filthy, driving a miniature train.

"Rasalas?" the tall one spoke.

Harry looked at the floor, ashamed. In the pit of his stomach, he knew he should know their names.

"I'm sorry. I... I don't remember either of you."

"D-d-don't worry 'bout it. The doctors didn't want us in here, but—"

"Ryan's dad sic'ed the lawyers on the hospital. I'm Aaron."

"And I'm Ryan."

"You... you were driving a really small train."

"Three weeks ago now, yeah. I'm sorry I d-d-d-didn't push harder to drive you back to Oshawa."

"He's been beating himself up over it, I keep telling him it's not his fault," said Aaron.

"Whatever. My penance, is that you come back to my place once you're rrrr-released."

"Oh. Well, err... thanks."

Harry/Rasalas still looked confused. It was like the memory was there, but just outside of his reach.

"Dude. Seriously, you look better without those nasty glasses."

"Unfortunately I can't see without them. Lifetime vision problems, I think."

"Doesn't mean you can't get sss-something better."

"The optometrist ran a bunch of tests earlier. So if I can get better frames, yeah, I'll go for it. Wait..."

He looked around, then pointed to his things.

"Err... could one of you fetch me my things?"

"Sure thing."

Ryan crossed the room, and collected the pouch and the jacket, then lay it on the bed within Harry/Rasalas' reach.

Harry/Rasalas reached in, and was momentarily confused as his hand closed around... was that a box? Ah, of course. The pouch was magical. He could feel a number of things inside, including... ah ha. A change of clothes. The leather jacket still confused him though.

First though, he needed to locate his wand—found it. Wait. That wasn't right. His wand was different... so where did this one come from? And money? Right, there it would be.

"Jesus, you're loaded, Rasalas," said Aaron, seeing the wad of cash in Harry/Rasalas' hand.

"I'll need to pay for new glasses for starters."

"We'll come with you," Ryan offered.

"I would like that, I think."

"So, uh, you don't remember anything?" asked Aaron.

"I get a few flash memories, but... nothing that really makes sense," Harry/Rasalas answered, as he picked up the jacket. He held it close, taking in the smell. Definitely not his, as he didn't smoke.

"Does this belong to either of you?" he finally asked.

"Nope," said Aaron. "Hold on. Turn it around a 'sec."

Harry/Rasalas flipped it over so the back was showing. There was a large 'rebel flag' patch that took up the centre of it.

"Weird... it's not just a jacket," he noticed.

"Damn. I know exactly whose jacket that is. You got a famous admirer, Rasalas," Aaron smirked, "Unless you somehow stole it."

Harry/Rasalas frowned. "Yeah, right. So who does it belong to?"

"Country singer named Brady Gibson—at least I think it does. How in the world did you get his jacket though?"

Harry/Rasalas shrugged, before slipping the jacket on. It was quite heavy, and somewhat expected, considering it was actually two separate items. There was a patch at the bottom of the right sleeve that he couldn't make out, and a second patch up closer to the shoulder depicting an eagle with its wings spread. The shoulder straps had tiny spikes protruding from them.

"So is his music any good?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Ryan made a face. "Dog howling m-music."

That had Harry/Rasalas giggling, while Aaron gave his friend a swat. Aaron cleared his throat, but grinned.

"What kind of music you like?"

"Uh... well... dunno, really. Not sure if it's a 'don't remember' thing, or just... that I've never really formed an opinion."

As he was speaking, he was pulling out the various receipts and pieces of paper from the pouch.

"Well this is bizarre. You said Brady Gibson?"

"Yeah."

"I had a ticket to his concert in Toronto," Harry/Rasalas answered, showing them the unused ticket.

Aaron had an 'ah ha' moment.

"He... they must've found you on the side of the road. You were found early on September 6th, and... he would've been coming from Ottawa, so... I bet anything, he... or his tour crew... found you."

"Famous person or not, I owe him a big thank-you... and I will have to return this..." he said, gesturing to the jacket. It was a bit big anyway.

"No m-man, you look cool in it," said Ryan, "Only give it back if he asks f-f-for it."

"Thing is, it'll be a while before we can deal with that anyway. Did they say how long they wanna keep you?"

"No, not yet. Doctor was happy with the answers I gave him though... he asked me a boat-load of questions about what I remember... if I can look after myself, I guess."

"Yeah, that would m-m-make sense," Ryan agreed, "You—d-d-damn. You stayed there?"

He'd spotted a receipt from Toronto's Royal York Hotel.

"I... uh... well, the receipt says it was for a couple of nights. And at that price... God. How was I paying..." he looked at the receipt again, then reached into his pouch, pulling out a pair of plastic cards. "All right. Things make sense now."

"Damn. Looks like a platinum card," said Aaron.

Harry/Rasalas passed over the pair of cards, so Aaron could get a good look at them.

"Gringotts? Never heard of them. But it's a VISA... Damn. And a MasterCARD. Dude. Like seriously. Your parents are probably freaking right now."

Harry/Rasalas nodded sadly. Aaron was right. How many people out there were looking for him? How many friends did he have? How many of them were going stir-crazy with worry?

"Thing is, if your Ma and Da are smart, th-th-they'll put a trace on the c-c-cards, so soon as they're used... they'll know, sssss-see."

"Maybe one of the things you can do is retrace your steps," Aaron suggested, "Revisit the places you've got receipts for, see if being there jogs your memory."

"Yeah, I like that," Harry/Rasalas agreed, "Err... what do you guys do anyway?"

"Oh. Well, we're still in school, actually," Aaron answered, "Ryan's in his last year, I'm a year behind."

Harry/Rasalas looked disappointed. "Guess I'll have to tackle this sort of thing on my own, then."

"Not if w-w-we do it on the weekend. It'll be a b-b-bit slower, but..."

"Yeah. That works. And don't worry about the cost, I'll cover it," Harry/Rasalas said, once again producing the wad of bills from his pouch.

"My first stop would be that bank... Gringotts or whatever it is. At least find out what your credit limit is."

It was after dinner before the pair left, but if anything, Harry/Rasalas felt better about where he stood. Perhaps the largest booster being, he wasn't alone. Sure, there was a lot of uncertainty, but Ryan was more than willing to help out.

* * *

><p><em>CHAPTER NOTES: Up next: Rasalas is released from the hospital, and the Sawyers learn about his unique abilities as he settles in. Days later, he meets his occupational therapist, but the meeting is interrupted by an unexpected guest.<em>

_(1) Ornge is the name of the air-ambulance service in Ontario._

_(2) Deathly Hallows, Canadian Soft-cover edition, p.281_


	5. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

_Thanks for your comments/reviews since my last update, and also, a shout-out to those who have added the story to your alert list, c2, or favourite list, it's almost as good as a review, 'ya know! Just a quick note, that if you want me to be able to reply or comment on your review, you do need to provide a signed review._

_Posted November 25, 2014._

_SUMMARY: __Rasalas is released from the hospital, and the Sawyers learn about his unique abilities as he settles in. Days later, he meets his occupational therapist, but the meeting is interrupted by an unexpected guest._

* * *

><p><strong>105. THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP<br>September 30 – October 4, 2005**

"_Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: 'What! You too? I thought that no one but myself...'"_

_- C.S. Lewis, _The Four Loves

* * *

><p><em>September 30, 2005<em>

Finally, Rasalas was discharged from the hospital. The neurosurgery department had run more than a few tests, and were able to ascertain that he retained most of his motor-skills, and the knowledge needed to function independently. His clearest memory came from when he was still a toddler, although the doctors most certainly questioned the validity of it, given what he was describing: a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes who was able to turn into a dog? They simply wrote it off as a misinterpretation of something that had happened to him at a young age.

Ryan, on the other hand, had a strong suspicion of his new friend's real ability. After all, he'd most certainly seen Rasalas pull a number of things out of his pouch, and by basic spatial reasoning, deemed the capacity of Rasalas' 'magic bag' quite literally impossible. Of course, up to this point, he remained silent on the issue, knowing he would eventually have the chance to ask about it.

Near the end of his stay, he was connected with an occupational therapist. She was quickly introduced to Ryan and his friend, considering everything had been arranged so that Rasalas would stay at the Sawyers' for the immediate future. The therapist worked out of Newcastle, and so was within easy reach. It would only take her about ten minutes to get to the residence. She was already putting resources in order so things could get rolling in short notice.

So it was, that just before lunch time, Ryan arrived to pick him up. Given it was early on a weekday, it was only Ryan who showed up—usually he and Aaron arrived much later in the day because they were both still attending school. With the signing of a few forms, Rasalas was at last able to leave the hospital. Ryan could tell the young man was more than eager to leave the place. They'd wanted him to use a wheelchair, but Rasalas insisted on walking out. He wasn't an invalid!

It ended up being a bit of a walk, since Ryan had to park in the back lot. The vehicle turned out to be a nearly restored 1977 Chevy Suburban. The body was mostly a cherry red, with the lower body being white.

As they pulled out onto Bayview Avenue, Ryan said, "You couldn't w-w-w-w-wait to get out of there."

"Going stir-crazy, yeah," Rasalas agreed, "I can't thank you guys enough for your help."

"Ma's actually looking forward to having you. She's w-w-w-worried about having an empty nest... though it's not like I'm going anywhere."

Rasalas furrowed his brows. "Empty nest?"

"Oh. Uh, means n-n-n-no more kids around."

"Right. But... your mum's still a bit young. She could—"

Ryan burst out laughing.

"Goddess no. After me, s-s-s-s-she all but vowed one's enough."

They turned off of Bayview Avenue, heading east along Eglinton Avenue, another very busy street.

"So much traffic," Rasalas muttered.

"It is a bit nuts. I d-d-don't care for coming down here. Up to last month and your accident, I didn't have any r-r-reason to come into the city."

"S-sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all cool in th-th-the end, right? Besides, you could've ended up... well, who knows w-w-w-where, really."

"Yeah, that's true," Rasalas agreed.

They fell to their own thoughts as they drove east, finally entering the access ramp to the Don Valley Parkway, a busy expressway that would take them north, up to the far busier 401 Motorway. God, there was so much traffic, Rasalas again thought.

As they merged with traffic on the busier freeway a short while later, Ryan said, "Your, uh, b-bag, it's unique."

"Very," Rasalas agreed, though he wondered where his new friend was going with the conversation.

"Ma says magic manifests itself in m-m-many ways. The doctors believed you should've d-d-d-died from the injury. So you're either pretty lucky, or—"

"Magic," Rasalas finished.

He thought for a moment.

"What do you know about... well... magic?"

"Probably nothing as extreme as th-th-the bag you own, but... I think you'll know the second you step into the house. Ma practices the old religion."

"The old religion?"

"She... and I too... we worship the mother goddess. I think... w-w-w-well, the best example will be at the end of next month with the Samhain celebration."

"You mean Halloween."

"Halloween is a modern incarnation of it, b-b-but many of its traditions come from the earlier Celtic celebrations."

Rasalas fell silent for a few moments, his head momentarily flooded with a brief memory.

"Rasalas?"

"It... well... it was a memory. There was this enormous room... I think your house would probably fit inside it. And there were like a hundred jack-o-lanterns with candles in them, floating about the room, with hundreds of live bats."

"Coming from anyone else, I'd call b-b-b-b-b-B.S.," said Ryan, "From you, it sounds awesome."

"It was. The tables were filled with tons of sugary treats. But... I can't remember exactly where it was... other than it was Halloween."

Rasalas thought for a moment.

"My ability's pretty rare. I mean, it's okay if your best friend knows... and your parents... but other than that, it really has to be kept secret."

"You have my w-w-w-w-word."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Why do you stutter?"

"Surprised y-y-y-y-you didn't ask about that sooner," said Ryan.

"I figured it was something rather personal, and, I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable—"

"No, it's all g-g-g-g-g-good. See, I did something rather dumb when I was s-s-s-s-six, or more like, I was someplace I shouldn't have been. I touched one of Da's tools, and it was electrified. It's why I don't grip things all that well with my right hand. Something like five hundred volts d-d-d-d-direct current.

"My arm got badly burned, and my heart actually s-s-s-stopped. 'Least that's what Da tells me."

"Oh. Rotten luck then."

"School isn't all that fun. People made fun of me not being able to string a s-s-s-s-sentence together without sounding like a retard."

"Then they aren't worth knowing," said Rasalas.

That earned a weak smile out of Ryan.

"Exactly what Aaron says. His friendship's b-been a godsend. It's made the last couple years of s-s-school bearable."

With moderate traffic, it was over an hour before they got back to the house. As they crossed the yard, Rasalas closed his eyes, trying to see if he could remember the last time he'd been there. Considering it had been rather recent. To his frustration, the only solid memory he had was of Ryan driving the small steam train.

"C'mon, l-l-let's go inside and get you settled."

As Ryan had promised, the moment Rasalas crossed the threshold of the doorway and entered the house itself, he felt a warm tingle run down his spine, that was soon after replaced by an equally warm feeling that simply said, 'welcome'. Indeed, there was magic at play in what seemed like a very much non-magical household.

The main room looked mostly modern, with a high-end television off to one side, with a couch and a few comfortable chairs arranged for viewing. The opposite wall featured an enormous fireplace, with a fire crackling away in the grate. Seeing that triggered another flash memory of a similar grate... and...

"_He'll be all right, Mum," a gangly, ginger-haired boy was speaking, "Rasalas, watch us first."_

_He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the pot an older woman was holding—the boy's mother, Rasalas realized—stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames._

_With a roar, the fire turned emerald green, and rose up taller than the boy, who then stepped into it, shouting, "Diagon Alley!" —and vanished.(2)_

"Rasalas?"

"Sorry. Just..."

"Another m-m-m-m-memory," Ryan finished.

"A fireplace exactly like yours... except, well, people were using the fire to travel to places. The floo network," Rasalas said.

"Really?"

"It's weird, I know."

"How fast?"

"I dunno, I don't remember actually using it myself, but... likely a lot faster than using the bus."

"Mr. Black. Welcome."

Rasalas turned to find Casey had stepped into the room from what looked like a kitchen. He'd already met Ryan's mother on a few occasions, since she had to sign a few forms saying it was okay for Rasalas to stay at their residence.

"Mrs. Sawyer—"

"Call me Casey, dear."

"Well. Uh. Again, thank you for seeing after me, it's greatly appreciated."

"Ryan was pretty insistent that you come stay with us, after your ordeal."

"I keep telling him it's not his fault, it could have happened anywhere," said Jason. "I guess if anything, I'm lucky that it happened here, rather than in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no one knowing who I am."

"All things happen for a reason, Rasalas. The Goddess has a plan for you."

"By clobbering me over the head and leaving me for dead, with no memory of my life up to this point? Not exactly a sane plan."

Casey smiled weakly.

"There is something to be learned from this. How will you face the challenge you've been presented with?"

"Ma said the same thing t-t-t-t-to me, when I was recovering from my accident."

"And I continue to remind you of it, Ryan."

Casey thought for a moment.

"Let me show you to your room, and you can get settled."

The room was a little small, but comfortable, with a dresser, a twin-size bed, and a small desk. There was a small closet to store the few things he had.

"My room's r-r-r-r-right next to yours, and the bathroom is at the far end of the hall. D-d-don't worry about the hot water, it's an endless supply. One of Da's little inventions."

"Thank you."

Rasalas took off his 'borrowed' jacket, and the pouch, and laid both on the bed, before beginning to pull a number of things out of it. This had Casey watching with rapt attention.

"How... how in the world?!"

Rasalas only smirked, pulling his broom out of it. He'd had a look at it one night in the hospital when everyone thought he was asleep, even with it in miniature form. Of course he could remember a few bits and pieces about flying on a broom.

"You c-c-c-can fly it," Ryan guessed.

Rasalas gave an enthusiastic nod.

"It was a gift. I can't remember from who, but..."

He thought for a moment.

"How private are we here?"

"We have neighbours about a half-kilometre east of here," Casey answered, though her eyes were still fixed on the broom in the boy's hand.

"I'll have to keep close then. After dinner, I'll show you how this works. One thing I'm glad of, that I didn't lose important knowledge. Would've been downright embarrassing had people had to feed me and so on."

Rasalas placed his broom on the small dresser, before continuing to search his pouch.

"Ah. If you thought the broom was cool, how about this?"

He produced a strange-looking cloak. The fabric shimmered in the light, appearing something akin to water. He simply smirked, before slinging the cloak over his shoulders. His body instantly vanished, being covered by the fabric.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Ryan managed, while Casey actually felt her knees grow weak at the concept.

"Goddess preserve us..."

"I could've escaped my captivity at the hospital a while ago, but, err... well, didn't want to worry anyone," Rasalas smirked, before pulling the cloak off and laying it on the bed.

"I'm not sure how much more of these little surprises I can take, Mr. Black. A real wizard of the arts..."

"Had you not been a witch in your own right, I wouldn't be sharing this. I felt the ward when I stepped into the house."

"Ward?"

"I'm not sure how strong it is, but... it was as though I walked through a jet of warm air. But the point is, you wield the arts, though in a different manner than mine."

Rasalas reached into his satchel once again, producing his wand. He knew this was not his original wand, but considering it worked perfectly, he didn't complain.

He pointed it at the cloak, then gave the wand a swish and a flick. "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

The cloak instantly rose off the bed to hover at eye-height.

"This is my method of practising the arts. My, uh, catalogue of spells is rather small, but... at least I remember that much."

The charm was dispelled as he turned his attention away.

"One of the things I'll need to do, is get in contact with the magical community. My magical knowledge is rather limited. And, perhaps they might know of how to get in contact with my family. Unfortunately that's something I can't just blatantly ask someone about. Like I said, we're very rare and there's not many of us... at least compared to non-magical people."

Ryan simply nodded. "Your secret's safe with us."

"Err... where's Aaron?"

"He'll b-b-be here soon, school's just let out," Ryan answered.

"Oh. Of course. Keep forgetting you guys have classes."

At dinner, he once again met Phillip, or Mr. Sawyer (he still found it hard to call them by their first names). The patriarch had been tied up with a crew, providing on-site service at a construction site in downtown Toronto. Seeing Phillip, Rasalas now understood where Ryan got most of his appearance from, including the height. Rasalas once again found himself giving a brief explanation of his abilities, which didn't seem to bother the man all that much. Granted, his wife was a witch, so, of course it wouldn't.

When dinner was finished and the dishes spirited away to the dishwasher, he collected his broom, anxious to take it for a flight, even if it was brief. Of course, the family followed, curious to see him actually fly.

"Should we have n-n-n-n-nine one one on speed dial?" Ryan teased. Aaron gave him a swat for his effort.

"Uh... no," Rasalas answered, as he put the broom between his legs, and easily lifted off, putting his feet in the stirrups.

"Dude... that's awesome."

"Flying... something I sort of remember," said Rasalas, as he gained a little height.

"That's fascinating," said Phillip, "And others have brooms, I assume."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure of that," Rasalas agreed.

He pushed the broom a bit, and briefly picked up speed. It was only a half-minute before he circled about and returned. He took it slow, not wanting to crash and hurt himself... or worse, make a fool of himself. Why did it feel like it had been so long since he'd been on the broom?

At Ryan's unvoiced but obvious question, Rasalas said, "Once I get a better handle on flying, I'll take all of you for a ride. Just... I feel like... it's been some time since I've been flying, and I'd rather be fully confident in the air before I take passengers."

"That would make sense," Phillip agreed, "That looks to be something very similar to driving."

"I wouldn't know, sir. I've never drove a car."

"Well, that's one of the things we'll want to change."

"Definitely," Ryan agreed, "Like seriously, you've n-n-n-never drove a car."

"I. I don't know, honestly."

Rasalas dismounted his broom.

"Ryan's been driving since he was fourteen," said Phillip, proudly, "Passed his exam on the first try."

Ryan's face flushed.

"Thanks, Da."

Rasalas could only grin, seeing the interaction. It was clear both of Ryan's parents adored him. How did he get along with his own parents? It had been nearly a month since he was nearly murdered. Were they still pounding the pavement, crushed with grief, as they frantically searched for him?

* * *

><p><em>October 4<em>

Mid-morning, a white sedan pulled into the private driveway of the residence. Rasalas had met with Ashley Peterson on numerous occasions, but this would be the first time the occupational therapist called on him at the Sawyers. Most definitely, she'd already been to visit on a couple of occasions, while Rasalas was still recovering in the hospital. As admirable as was the family's intentions, Ashley wanted to be sure it would be a good fit.

The Ministry of Social Services had also asked a number of similar questions, but in the end, it was up to Rasalas, since he was over the age of sixteen. Canadian law did state that someone sixteen or older had the right to decide where they wanted to live.

It was Casey who met the woman in the parlour, and guided her into the living room, where Rasalas waited.

"Do I need to stay?" she then asked.

"Uh, no, thanks."

"Just call if you need anything." Casey then headed through the dining room, and into the kitchen.

"So you're settling in here okay?" Ashley questioned.

"Yeah, so far. It's weird, right... one of the few memories I remember at all, was being here. Ryan says I was here for most of the weekend. But it feels like... I somehow belong here. Both Phil and Casey have made me feel really welcome... treat me like a part of the family."

"I'm glad to hear that. Though I've already said this before... I have to say it again. You need a stable environment in order for you to continue to heal."

"So far it looks like I've lucked out."

"Then we shall move on. First up. Do you have any immediate questions or concerns?"

"Any word on my parents, my family?"

"I somehow figured that would be your first question. Unfortunately the answer is no," Ashley answered, "And I know you're frustrated with that side of things, but sometimes, these things take time. Canada is a big country, as you realize, I'm sure."

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Then let's move on to the next item. I'm still working on getting you in to sit a General Aptitude Test Battery, or GATB for short. We need to figure out where you stand academically, then we can see about getting you into school, whether it be independent study, or with an adult school."

"Yeah, that would be brilliant—"

Rasalas looked up, hearing another vehicle pull into the driveway. It was too early in the day for it to be Ryan and Aaron—they'd only left for school an hour or so ago. He craned his neck to see out the window.

A black truck had pulled up alongside of Ashley's car, and its occupants quickly got out. The driver wore a dark suit, and seemed to be looking around the grounds, while the other... he wore a jacket similar to the one Rasalas now had upstairs. He wore a dark baseball cap, pulled low, almost hiding his eyes, a pair of jeans, and a pair of boots. They were making for the door, and seconds later, there came a knock.

Rasalas had a suspicion of who it might be, but stayed put, letting Casey answer the door. He still considered himself a guest, after all. She hurried into the parlour, and out of sight.

"Yes?" he heard her ask.

"This the Sawyer residence?" came the question. It was spoken softly, slowly, though he had all the time in the world. Well, maybe not quite, but.

"How can I help you?" asked Casey. Rasalas couldn't help but grin, hearing her Irish accent contrast with the speaker.

"Uh, ma'am, I'm lookin' for Rasalas Black."

"And you are..."

"Oh. Brady Gibson, ma'am."

Now, Rasalas got up.

"Excuse me," he said politely, before hurrying into the parlour.

The man in the suit had remained outside, but Brady had stepped into the parlour. He'd pulled off his cap, revealing a nearly-shaved head. He had a pear-shaped face, with a thin, neatly trimmed beard. His ears stuck out a bit, and both were pierced. Rasalas had to grin, imagining himself doing something as outlandish.

"Mr. Gibson, Rasalas Black," Casey introduced.

Brady offered a hand, and they shook. Rasalas guessed Brady was just an inch or so taller than he was—but thin. Wow, the guy needed to eat...

"I... well, I guess the first thing I must say, is thank you," said Rasalas, "You saved my life."

"More my driver than me," Brady answered.

Ashley had come in from the living room.

"I'll return tomorrow, it seems you might have something a little more important to attend to," she said.

"S-sorry," Rasalas apologized.

"No, don't be. Uh, Mr. Gibson, I presume."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm Ashley Peterson, Mr. Black's occupational therapist. I'd ask you not to agitate or upset him, he's still recovering though he's been released from hospital."

"I don't plan on it. Been wantin' to meet Mr. Black since... uh, well, when this all went down. Hospital wouldn' have any of it."

"As is standard practice. Family only, they're a bit strict about that." Ashley checked her bag one more time. "I'll return tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Ashley," said Rasalas.

She gave a nod, before leaving.

"All right. Come into the living room, make yourself comfortable. Err... Mr. Gibson, can I get you anything?"

"No thank you."

Brady was removing his jacket, revealing a dark tee shirt under it. His left arm was covered in a few tattoos. Rasalas also spotted the few chains and necklaces he wore. Casey, meanwhile, passed into the dining room, and came back a few moments with a mug.

"My son's friend knows who you are," she said, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. "I somewhat do, and... you're a long way from home."

"Georgia," Brady answered.

"The United States," Rasalas remembered, to which Brady gave a nod.

"Cops thought you was beat up."

"I... I don't know," answered Rasalas, sadly, "Whatever they did to me, it's left me with no memory of who I am. I could be a deranged psychopath for all I know."

That earned a scandalous look from Casey, and a chuckle out of Brady.

"Rasalas, you were nothing but a polite young man over the weekend before you were attacked," said Casey.

"So you don' remember nothin'?" said Brady. At Rasalas' nod, he said, "That really sucks."

"You have no idea. These guys are being really kind, allowing me to stay with them until I get my feet again. But... you came all the way from the southern U.S. to see me?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Why?"

"'cause I've been there, where you are. Bein' near death, and comin' back from it," Brady answered, seriously. "Listen... uh... you had a ticket to my show back in September... an' it ain't right, you missin' it on count of stupid shit like this."

Casey gave Brady a sharp look.

Rasalas smirked.

"Ryan warned me she likes to use particularly nasty soap when he uses curse words."

Brady rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish grin.

"Bad habit. Uh, but anyway... I'm offerin' to give you an' a few others a private show, if 'ya like."

"I'd have to talk to Phil," said Casey, "I'm assuming you would want to do it here."

"Yes ma'am."

"That would be wicked. Aaron let me hear a CD of yours. I think he's more a fan than Ryan is, but..." Rasalas thought for a moment. "Would it be just you, or would... well—"

"My guys'll be comin' up, too," said Brady.

"Give me a moment, I'm going to get Phil to come join us."

Casey stood up, and left back into the dining room again. Rasalas, meanwhile, could only shake his head.

"Can't believe you came thousands of miles just for me."

"I had my P.R. people keep checkin' on ya, see. 'an I learned a couple days ago you was let out of the hospital. The tour was done in Toronto, so it was nothin' for me to fly up here."

"I know you're important and all—"

"I didn' just drop everythin', if that's what you're gettin' at."

"Oh. Well, good. I just don't want people feeling sorry for me. Angry for me? Yeah, I can take that. But not sorrow or pity," said Rasalas, "And know that if I ever figure out who is responsible... let's just say there are worse things than death... maybe see how they like it when I make them pick which memory—"

He stopped talking, realizing he was about to reveal something he shouldn't.

Brady looked at him funny.

"What?"

"Never mind. Err... overactive imagination."

"They'll all answer to God when their time comes, Rasalas."

Rasalas hummed. "But seriously. You just dropped everything to come see me... and offer to give me a private concert. It's a brilliant show of kindness, but—"

"I'm off, takin' some downtime, so no I didn't just 'drop everythin'. Nothin's important right now... other than bein' here, showin' you a little support."

"I'm not... ungrateful. Just... surprised, I guess. My gut tells me I've not had much of that in my past life. Maybe that's why it's so hard to just take at face value.

"Some part of me... a nagging feeling in the back of my head... it's throwing out the question... what do you get out of it?"

"Givin' back to a potential friend," Brady answered, "See, I don' have fans, I have friends."

"Oh. Well... that makes more sense then."

They heard the front door open, and moments later, Phillip Sawyer stepped into the living room, with his wife in tow. He wore a set of full coveralls that were smeared with grease in more than a few places. The smell of the shop had followed him.

"Brady, this is my husband, Phil," Casey introduced them, as both Brady and Rasalas stood up.

"Casey tells me you'd like to hold a private concert here."

"Yeah, that's about righ', sir," Brady answered.

"Hmmm... I can agree with that. Though... we generally have a live steaming day at the end of the month."

"The miniature steam trains," Rasalas remembered.

"Exactly. Though we have a private... ritual after sunset. But... if we pull the Ride Enthusiast group from Pickering in, and a few other guys from the club, we should be all right."

"So, not so private," said Brady. "Shit can get expensive. Security, uh... gon' need P.R. here..."

"Well... I'll help pay for it," said Rasalas.

"You still need to find out what your credit limit is," said Casey, "Events like this are terribly expensive. Phil, are you sure we can handle something like this? This'll be over and above our Labour Day weekend event."

"We'll have lots of volunteers, dear."

Casey took a sip of her tea. "Well then, Mr. Gibson, it looks like you have a venue. I'll need a few details so we can get the lawyers working on permits from the township... and where are you staying?"

Brady had to think a moment, before answering, "Uh, near the highway... there's a Harley Davidson dealer next to it."

"Ah. The Travelodge," said Phil, "I know where you're staying. Or were. We've got extra room and you're welcome to stay here."

"Phil..."

"He's likely gonna need to be here, honey." Phil smiled sweetly. "And beside the fact, you've wanted a house full of guests."

He then did something that made her jump.

"_Phillip Sawyer!_"

That had Rasalas smirking, and Brady let out a chuckle.

"We could let the pair of you have the room," Rasalas grinned.

"No, my husband needs to keep his hands to himself in the presence of company," Casey muttered.

Rasalas felt his face get hot, and Brady cleared his throat.

"Y'all sure I'm not imposin'?"

"Mr. Gibson, it would be an honour for you to stay with us." Phil thought for a moment. "How long are you allowed to stay in the country?"

"End of November."

"Okay. That's one less thing you'll need to worry about. I'll show you the business office in a bit, feel free to use whatever you need to. And we'll hook you up with our commercial attorney—though you likely have your own lawyers."

"Yeah, I got a few. 'an the label's gon' need to know."

"Label?" Rasalas wondered.

"Record company," Brady clarified.

"What about the guy who's with you?"

"Security. I got at least one guy, but if y'all are cool with me stayin', I won't need 'im."

"We'll bring on security anyway, the week before the event. Once we set up the rides and bring out the antique equipment... some of dates back to my grandfather's childhood," said Phil.

"So it's gonna be exactly like back on Labour Day weekend," said Rasalas.

"Identical, yeah. With the addition of Mr. Gibson's show. Though I think you should hold your performance on the Sunday."

Brady gave a nod.

"Well, uh... lemme go get my shit an' check out," he said, getting to his feet.

"Try and make it back for lunch. I think both Ryan and his friend should be back—my son only has a half-day today," said Casey.

Rasalas watched as the black truck left the driveway. His head was still spinning somewhat, with what had just happened. Someone famous had just dropped everything to come see him. He still couldn't wrap his head around the concept. Brady had come of his own free will, to do something nice for someone he'd not met directly, and only through a tragic set of circumstances. He expected nothing back from it. How did that work?

In spite of it all, he couldn't help but grin. The guy had a funny accent, and if Rasalas were honest, he could listen to the guy talk all day and all night... never mind sing. No matter what, it was likely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Preparations continue for Brady's concert at the Sawyers; and a letter from Gringotts leads him to discoveries of who he actually is, along with answers to a few other important questions.<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: I received a guest review for the previous chapter, concern I was going to have Sirius commit suicide. Uh. No. That's not gonna happen. As will be seen in future chapters, Sirius knows Harry/Rasalas is still very much alive._


	6. Identity Revealed

_Posted November 26, 2014_

_SUMMARY: __Preparations continue for Brady's concert at the Sawyers; and a letter from Gringotts leads him to discoveries of who he actually is, along with answers to a few other important questions._

* * *

><p><strong>106. IDENTITY REVEALED<br>October 4 - 10, 2005**

"_Careful what you wish for, you may just receive it."_

_- unknown author_

* * *

><p>Both Ryan and Aaron were more than surprised when they'd arrived home for lunch to discover they had a new guest staying with them. Neither of them had much to say about it, other than to greet Brady warmly. Aaron most definitely knew who he was, but said little otherwise.<p>

The bigger shock came from the reason for Brady being there. Initially, Ryan thought the idea was nuts—less than four weeks' notice?

"W-w-we're still in school, Da," Ryan reminded his father, "We won't be able to help out, 'cept on the w-w-weekends."

"We'll make do, son. But expect things to get very busy around here for the next while."

"What about the ssss-shop? The business—"

"It'll be worth it," said Phil, "I've already put a message with the staff, that we're on emergency contract only until the end of the month. No casual jobs until the start of November. We're in semi-holiday mode."

The remainder of the week proved to be absolutely chaotic, as Ryan's parents both worked with Brady, making arrangements for the concert. It was really short notice, and the lawyers from all sides were making more than a few complaints about it, but none of the parties were outright saying 'no', which was a good thing.

As breakfast was wrapping up Saturday morning, Ryan and Aaron invited Rasalas to join them in the locomotive shop.

"W-w-we have a bit of work to do on the Y6B," Ryan explained, "Had to pull the atomizer after a run day two weeks ago."

"Atomizer?"

"Better you see it than we try and explain it," said Aaron, "But without it, the locomotive won't get very far."

"Check the diesel storage tanks as well, I think we may need to schedule a delivery," said Phil.

"Both the l-l-locomotive shop and the main shop, Da?"

"Yeah. We'll need the supplementary power supply on the weekend if we're running the rides."

"Rides?" Brady asked.

"We've got about six carnival rides we usually only get to set up once, maybe twice a year. If we're making this a weekend event, we'll be setting those up," Phil explained.

"Cool."

"Oh, it's v-v-very cool," Ryan agreed, with a grin. "I mean, every kid's d-d-dream to have his own carny ride, right?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Brady agreed, with a grin of his own. "So, uh... mind if I come along?"

Ryan smirked. "All w-w-work and no play make Jack a d-d-dull boy."

In addition to the main commercial shop which was situated north of the residence, there was a smaller shop to the east of the house, and that was where Ryan, Aaron, Brady, and Rasalas were headed. It somewhat resembled a small barn, but had a large roll-up door, as well as a regular steel door.

"You probably don't remember it," said Aaron, "But we did let you see this stuff back at the beginning of September."

"I do remember the engine a little bit," said Rasalas.

"You got a train in there," Brady deadpanned.

Ryan smirked. "Yup." He fumbled with a set of keys, and ended up dropping them. "Right hand... useless ssss-sometimes," he muttered, bending down to pick them up. Finally finding the right one, he pressed it into the lock, and opened it.

"Let me check the diesel situation," Aaron volunteered. "The atomizer shouldn't take too long to fix, right."

"No, it shouldn't. And y-yeah, I do plan on putting it in steam. R-r-rather make sure everything's working right when we're n-n-not working a deadline."

"Watch your step, lots of clutter here," said Aaron, as he flicked on the light switches.

Indeed, the back part of the shop was a mass of crates and boxes, which the four of them had to navigate around before—

"Bloody hell..."

Rasalas somewhat remembered the enormous miniature steam engine the Sawyers had, but to see it for real...

"Damn..." Brady was equally impressed. "Y'all built this?"

"Yeah," Ryan answered, "Me and Da finished it a couple of y-years ago."

The floor was sunken on the right side of the shop, with two sets of raised rails. On the far right side, sat the machine in question. It was easily ten feet in length, and if Rasalas had to guess, the track width (or gauge) was six inches.

"This... this really exists? I mean, I know it's a scale, but—"

"Norfolk & Western... a railroad that operated m-m-mainly in Virginia and West Virginia... this was their p-p-primary motive power... at least until they changed over to diesel. It was the most powerful steam locomotive on the continent."

Both Brady and Rasalas were then having a closer look at the monster engine. It had two sets of cylinders which drove four axles a piece, a two-axle pony truck, and a two-axle trailing truck. In essence, it was two locomotives rolled into one, beneath an enormous boiler.

"I pity the bloke who had to fire such a beast," Rasalas declared.

That earned a chuckle out of Ryan.

"These things had automatic s-s-s-stokers. There's no way any mortal could ever k-k-k-k-keep up with its appetite."

"This model, on the other hand, burns diesel fuel. Here, look at this," said Aaron.

He gestured to an assembly laid out on what was obviously the driver's seat, perched on the front end of the tender. The part had two pieces of copper tubing protruding from it. One end of it had a pipe sticking out of it that narrowed down to a point, which had been blackened with soot.

"It's called an atomizer. See, this line—" he pointed to one of the copper tubes, "—carries the fuel, while the other—" he pointed to the other, "—carries steam."

"Or air," Ryan cut in, "While we're starting, we use c-c-c-compressed air until we have enough steam pressure. The steam or air blend with the diesel and it burns in h-h-here."

He gestured to the opening to the firebox.

"I seen a few steam engines," said Brady, "Nothin' like this though."

"If you're a good guest, we might let you drive," Aaron smirked.

"Aaron... p-play nice. Uh... th-this won't take long to put in... w-w-why don't you show these guys how to do the l-l-lubrication?"

Aaron gave a nod. "Rasalas, go grab the two oiling cans and the grease gun, they're on the workbench." He pointed to the workbench on the opposite side of the room. "And I hope you guys don't mind getting a little dirty."

Brady gave a shrug. "Shit washes off, right?"

"Touche." Aaron had opened up a small box at the back of the tender, and pulled out a small tin. Rasalas, meanwhile, collected the oiling cans and the grease gun.

"Good. So this is how it works." Aaron began pointing to a number of places on the first set of drivers. "Each little... nib, like these... they get a squirt of oil. Let me see one of the oiling cans... great." He put the nozzle of the flexible end from the can on one of the nibs, then pumped the can once.

"And the grease?" asked Brady.

"Here." Aaron pointed to a depression which was accessed through the spokes of the back driving wheel. "It's a little awkward to get to, but the driving axles get one pump each."

"Got it."

As they worked, Rasalas smirked quietly to himself. This was a lot of work... too bad he couldn't just pull out his wand. He'd have the lubrication completed within a matter of seconds. However, with Brady there, that was out of the question. As it stood, he was still unsure of how to deal with the guy. His reasoning seemed to be genuine, but still. It came back to a nagging feeling in the back of his head. What did he truly want?

"Heads up... gonna p-p-put a match to it," said Ryan.

He was already unreeling a hose from the wall. He plugged it into a connector on the left side of the engine, and went into the box at the back of the tender. Aaron, meanwhile, had set down the wad of cotton (or whatever it was) he was using to polish the few brass parts. He reached up and pulled a flexible metal tube from a housing in the ceiling, and set it over top of the chimney.

"Right. Here g-g-goes." Ryan fiddled with a couple of valves at the left side of the cab, one of which brought about a slight hissing noise. He then stuffed a wad of rags into the firebox, and set them alight with a long lighter, causing a cloud of black smoke to come out from under the engine's firebox. He then fiddled with one of the valves again, curbing the amount of smoke.

"Doesn't mater how m-m-many times I do this, it still smokes crazy. Watch out..."

He then cracked open yet another valve, and there came a heavy 'whump', with an orange glow being temporarily cast on the floor, as fire seemed to roar out of the firebox from at least five different places.

"It lives," Aaron smirked, while Ryan again adjusted the second valve. The fire stopped blazing out of the firebox, and satisfied with the settings, Ryan shut the door.

"How long's it take?" Brady asked.

"To reach operating pressure? A half hour, m-maybe," Ryan answered. "So... uh, why don't you g-g-guys go with Aaron, get a couple of passenger cars out. An' we'll need to check the track before we run."

"The cars are stored in a separate shed," Aaron explained, as he opened the large roll-up door on the east side of the building.

Sure enough, the two tracks led out to a small turntable, with tracks leading off of it directly east, and a set of tracks leading away directly north. That track led to what looked like a miniature hoist mounted on a larger guide track of its own.

Along the track heading east, there was a switch leading to a side track, which ran into a smaller shed. Aaron led them around to the opposite side of it, where tracks led away from it once again, to meet up with the siding further along.

It took about ten minutes to pull out a pair of passenger cars. In this case, they looked exactly like a set of heavyweight sleepers that would have been built in the late twenties. There were four small cushions affixed to the roof of each car, with matching stirrups that protruded from the lower frame.

With the two cars coupled together, Aaron then brought out one final piece of rolling stock, this one being a miniature replica of a parlour-observation car. It had only one seat affixed to its roof, and the text 'CREW ONLY' was stencilled on it in yellow letters.

* * *

><p>As both Rasalas and Brady found out, putting the locomotive in steam effectively ate up the day. Everyone most certainly had a go at the throttle, and immediately after lunch, Phil joined them, if only to take a boat load of pictures for the steam club's website.<p>

Finally, as it neared 4 pm, the engine was returned to the shop. Then, while Rasalas and Brady put the cars away, Ryan and Aaron looked after shutting the engine down, and doing a basic cleaning. Storing the cars away only took a few minutes, so Rasalas headed for the shop, with Brady following.

At this point, Ryan had the smoke box door open, and he was using a long brush to clean out the numerous flue tubes that ran through the length of the boiler. Aaron, meanwhile, was wiping down the outside of the engine with a wet rag, getting rid of the black soot that had settled on it.

"How often do y'all do this?" Brady asked, as he tracked down a towel to wipe his hands.

"Once a month at least. There's sometimes a private event, or the club guys bring out an engine to try out. But at least once a month," said Aaron.

"This was fantastic," Rasalas grinned, "I'll definitely give you guys a hand during the... what are we calling it, anyway?"

Both Ryan and Aaron looked at each other.

"Shit. Knew we were forgetting something."

"Well, it's Brady's gig, right?" Aaron pointed out.

"Promotional's workin' on it," said Brady.

"Well... th-that makes sense," Ryan agreed, as he pushed the sweeping brush through another tube.

Aaron, seeing he was distracted, picked up the air hose, aimed it toward the back of the firebox, and opened the valve wide as it would go.

_POOOF_. Quite literally, a cloud of soot bloomed from the smoke box, hitting Ryan full in the face.

"Ooops," Aaron smirked.

"Fucker."

In retaliation, Ryan reached down, picked up a rag that was practically dripping with grease, and flung it at his friend. Rather than avoiding it, Aaron simply snatched it out of the air, and flung it back. Now the fight was on, as the pair exchanged shots of... well, whatever messy substance they could get their hands on.

It was only natural that both Rasalas and Brady got suckered into it—Brady being last, and only after being nailed with a soot-covered rag. He'd taken revenge by grabbing the grease gun , jamming it down Ryan's shirt, and giving it a squeeze.

"Great Caesar's ghost..."

The four of them stopped dead, finding Casey looking on, appearing undecided whether to be amused or cross. The four young men were absolutely covered in dirt, oil, and grease. Hair, hands, face, nothing was free of the mess. Brady had lost his cap, and it looked like someone had smeared grease and soot over the top of his head. Ryan's face was completely black, as was some of his hair. Aaron, too, had lost his hat, and it looked like someone had dumped a container of oil on him, as it streaked down his neck and face.

"I was just about to tell the four of you to... oh good grief."

"Err... apologies," said Rasalas, sheepishly.

"When the cat's away, the rats will play," said Aaron, with a shrug.

"Wait until your father sees this..."

"He'd probably take a p-p-picture, Ma."

"At any rate, I am about to start dinner. The lot of you get cleaned up, it'll likely take you until dinner as it is." Casey shook her head and pursed her lips at her son. "Good grief, boy."

As she left, Rasalas couldn't help but grin, while he wiped the mess off of his face. It had been the most fun he'd had since... well, he wasn't sure.

"We didn't mean—" Ryan began.

Rasalas cut him off. "First time in months I've done anything remotely entertaining. Though. This crap's gonna be a nightmare to get out of our hair. C'mon, we'd best get cleaned up, 'fore your mum yells at us again."

Ryan arched an eyebrow. "You're cool with my Ma yelling at you?"

"Doesn't bother me any."

"So this a normal thing?" asked Brady, who was also trying to get the mess off his face.

"Well... once in a while," answered Aaron.

"C-c-come into the big shop, there's showers and pumice soap to get the grease off."

"Gon' need a change of clothes."

"We all will, I think. God, never expected..." Rasalas trailed off, as he couldn't help but grin at their appearance. It was hysterical, in a way.

"Where'd my hat go?"

"Fell under the workbench," said Aaron, who was still looking for his own.

Rasalas grinned. "You look better without it."

"No, I feel naked without it," Brady answered.

"M-m-maybe he sleeps in it."

That earned Ryan a rude gesture for his effort.

* * *

><p><em>October 10<em>

For the first time in well over a week, Rasalas found himself almost alone. Both Phil and Casey were tied up in the business office, along with Brady, as they continued to plan out the event at the end of the month. So, Rasalas essentially had the house to himself after breakfast. For the time being, he was happy to watch the telly, and have a bit of alone time. Of course, he found it a little odd, the house being so quiet—

A tapping at a nearby window pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the source of the noise, to find a brown owl sitting outside, with a—was that a letter tied to its leg? Rasalas opened the window and let the bird in.

"I... I guess this is for me."

The bird seemed to bob its head in agreement, so Rasalas undid the string, and collected the letter. He wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd encountered this sort of thing before, but came up empty.

"This... this is how magic people send letters?"

The bird seemed to nod again.

"Oh. And... whoever sent this... they want an answer."

The bird once again nodded.

"Well... come on then. We need to go to my room. There are people here who shouldn't know about this."

Rasalas held out his arm, and the owl lifted off to land on it. Then, wizard and owl climbed the stairs to his room, where he then opened the envelope.

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_This letter is to inform you that Albus Dumbledore is attempting to make withdrawals from the Potter account. Until we receive instruction from you, such transactions have been declined. How do you wish to proceed?_

_Garokat,  
>Senior Account Manager,<br>Gringotts, Toronto Branch_

Rasalas frowned. The Potter account? This had him confused, since his last name was Black. Perhaps, this 'Garokat' would be able to shed more light on the situation. He pulled out a sheet of writing paper and a pen, and composed a reply.

"I guess you were sent from Gringotts, then. Take this back to Garokat," said Rasalas, securing the note to the owl's leg. The owl fluttered up to the window sill, and looked at him expectantly.

"Oh. Right."

Rasalas opened the window, and the bird flew off, quickly disappearing into the low cloud cover. As he shut the window, Rasalas then wondered how long it would take for the owl to return to Toronto. Ryan said it was about fifty kilometres—roughly thirty miles. So likely a couple of hours at most. Rather efficient, considering the non-magical post tended to take at least a day, usually two or three.

There came a reply about two hours later, this one being delivered by a screech owl.

_Mr. Black,_

_We are somewhat perplexed that you do not remember how to locate our branch, since you have been into the bank on August 6. However, we have included a port key that will bring you to our customer receiving area. Simply tap this letter with your wand, and the item will be produced. The activation phrase is 'profit'._

_I await your timely arrival._

_Regards,  
><em>

_Garokat,  
>Senior account manager,<br>Gringotts, Toronto Branch_

A port key. Oh. Right. Rasalas most certainly remembered that—hadn't there been an incident a few months ago? He tried to remember, but could not. And, perhaps maybe it was better he didn't.

He quickly scribbled out a note to the Sawyers so they wouldn't wonder where he got off to, and left it on the dining room table, before tapping the letter with his wand. An empty soda can flashed into existence—most unusual, Rasalas thought. Gripping it tightly, he whispered, "Profit."

He landed most awkwardly in an opulently decorated room, and a voice to his left practically demanded, "State your business."

Rasalas shook the cobwebs out of his head, and focused on the speaker. A goblin. Right. Innate knowledge he hadn't lost.

"Err... Garokat has asked to see me, and sent a port key." Since he still held the letter, he simply showed it to the goblin.

"Very well. Show this to a teller, and you will be taken to his office," said the goblin, pointing through the wide doorway. Rasalas could see a large counter on the opposite side.

"Thank you for your help."

Minutes later, he was shown into an office by one of the tellers. It was somewhat unnerving, to be dealing with people—if they could be addressed as so—who were less than half his height. But they did have control of his money, so he knew he had to play nice.

"Mr. Black. I am Garokat. Have a seat," said the occupant of the office, indicating a pair of chairs. The goblin was ancient-looking, that was certain. The office itself matched the decor of the rest of the bank, with an enormous desk taking up the back of it.

Rasalas took a seat, while the teller excused himself.

"Now. Your letter has us more than concerned. Given your status—"

"Excuse me," Rasalas interrupted, "But... see, I was attacked at the beginning of September. They beat me to within an inch of my life, and well... the doctors called it... um... retrograde amnesia."

"I see," said Garokat, frowning. "One further reason I would advise you to seek legal counsel sooner rather than later. A Muggle attacking a wizard is a serious offence."

"I'm still finding my feet," said Rasalas.

"It does make matters a little more difficult. Hmm... you were given a goblin-enchanted bracelet."

"I... don't remember if I was or not."

"Curious. Your magical core appears to have somehow absorbed it and the enchantments altogether. Most unusual."

"If... if it wasn't meant... I mean... I'll cover it if—"

"It was already bought and paid for, Mr. Black," said Garokat, "It is only a curiosity. In that case, I would also suggest you get in touch with a healer. I am aware Muggle medicine is capable of some astounding things, but your healers are still superior in most instances."

"Can they help me get my memory back?"

"Perhaps. Either way, I can relay to you a few important details about yourself, and a few people that may be concerned as to your whereabouts, namely your godfather."

"Godfather? What about my parents?"

"First, you do need to know of your true identity. The bracelet you were given actually provided you with a nearly-unbreakable disguise," said Garokat, gesturing at the desk with a finger.

A stack of newspapers appeared. Rasalas reached over, and picked up the first copy. The picture at the centre of it featured a portrait of a teen-aged boy, looking uncomfortable for the camera. He had dark hair, green eyes, and round glasses. The headline above shouted, "BOY WHO LIES?"

"Who is this?"

"That would be you, Mr. Black. Or should I say, Mr. Potter. Your birth name is Harry Potter," Garokat explained, producing another folder. "You were born at the end of July, 1990(1), to James and Lily. A little over a year later, they were both murdered by a dark wizard. We're aware of some of the details surrounding the events, but your godfather, Sirius Black, will be in a much better position to explain such things to you, and perhaps lend support, given the sensitive nature."

"Oh."

Garokat passed the folder over, and Rasalas glanced at it a moment.

"Why am I not Harry Potter any more?"

"An incident over two months ago saw you flee magical England wearing the disguise you now have, with the help of Gringotts. Your godfather knows of this, and assisted in getting you out of the country, though at this point, he does not know where you are. He's sent more than a few missives to the bank, concerned about your well being, but we were prevented from revealing your location without your permission."

"I... I need to think about this a bit before... well... is there a way I might get a letter off to him, through the bank?"

"That can be arranged, for a small fee. We are not a post office, Mr. Black."

"I am aware of that. But... I realize the bank also knows what discretion means. If I decided I needed to be hidden... to vanish... it looks like I got my wish, and then some."

"Indeed, that is a sound conclusion. We have a binding contract which forbids us from revealing your name, or location without your express consent."

"For now... I'm going to uphold that. However, is there a possibility there could be a clause added which allows for notification in the event something happens? I'll leave contact information, and... hmm... just not sure how this might work, considering I'm at present staying with non-magical people."

"I see."

"They've been nothing but kind to me since I met them at the beginning of September."

"Then, another reason you should seek legal counsel. A law witch or wizard will be able to come up with options."

"Where would I begin... I mean, where would I find law wizards?"

Garokat touched a finger to a page of parchment, then slid it across the desk. "You'll find a list of reputable law witches and wizards to pursue at your leisure. Though once again I stress, you should hire one as soon as possible. There are those who are attempting to claim your estate as I speak, believing you to be dead."

"This 'Dumbledore' character."

"Being one of them, yes," said Garokat, while Rasalas snatched up another newspaper from the pile. The witch in the picture on the far right side of the page... he'd seen her before. She resembled a toad, for some reason. That was the instant thought that crossed Rasalas' mind, as he read the headline:

_DARK DAYS AT HOGWARTS_

_English Ministry-appointed Teacher named High Inquisitor_

_**London (AWP(2)) **__– In a move that has more than a few witches and wizards on this side of the Atlantic shaking their heads, the British Ministry of Magic has passed legislation naming Delores Umbridge the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, declaring, "A new era dawns at Hogwarts"._

_Ed Wallace, head of the Canadian Ministry's Department of Education, has gone on record stating, "The English ministry's fear mongering has reached new heights with this latest piece of draconian legislation, turning a hallowed place of learning into nothing better than a concentration camp straight out of Nazi Germany."_

_The enacted legislation allows Umbridge unprecedented authority at the prestigious magic school, including conducting audits of school activities, as well as audit and fire instructors..._

"Did... Did I go to this school?"

"Until the end of last year, yes," answered Garokat.

"May I have this?" At the goblin's nod of assent, Rasalas rolled it up and put it in his pouch.

"I guess the next question is, how deep are my pockets?"

"Even without the help of your godfather, the Potter estate is incredibly wealthy. Let me see..." Garokat made a gesture at a page of parchment on his desk, causing it to glow momentarily, before he then slid it across the desk.

Rasalas picked it up, and was momentarily held speechless, as he read the account summary. "Five hundred million galleons in coin alone?"

"Not including a number of investments. Those figures do vary from day to day, so an exact total is difficult. The physical assets of the estate effectively double the final numerical total, as you see on the right side of the parchment."

"And including assets from my godfather?"

Garokat made another gesture with his hand, producing yet another parchment. Rasalas read that, and was further stunned. "T-two billion galleons. Bloody hell..."

"Between the Black and Potter accounts, you and your godfather account for about seven percent of the wealth stored with us."

"So I shouldn't have trouble hiring a law-wizard." Rasalas thought for a moment. "My education. I assume... well, I assume I should be taking some sort of magical schooling."

"Yes, indeed. You should have began your fifth year of schooling at the beginning of September. Once again, your law-wizard will help you get such details sorted out. Though you most certainly could attend a school here, you may wish to study independently, given this would be your O.W.L. year."

"O.W.L.?"

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels. They are a series of examinations administered toward the end of a student's fifth year. This year is essentially a review."

"Oh. I see."

Rasalas thought for a moment.

"After my... well... when I was released from the hospital, I was assigned an occupational therapist. She's setting me up for a series of aptitude tests. Should I still take them?"

"It depends on what you want to do, Mr. Black. Canadian witches and wizards most certainly do continue with their non-magical education—at least, as far as half-blood and first-generation magicals are concerned."

"All right. That makes sense, I guess."

The meeting lasted another two hours, with Garokat outlining some of the basic things Rasalas needed to know. Not only did he provide him with the list of law-wizards, he also gave him a list of useful book titles to look up at the bookstore.

So it was, that Rasalas left the bank, and quickly located a Wizarding bookstore, across the street from the bank. Going with the goblin's suggestions, he purchased everything on the list. If anything, Garokat had been incredibly helpful. He had a nagging thought in the back of his head, that such behaviour was unusual coming from a goblin. Maybe he'd lucked out.

The list of law-wizards, meanwhile, included both addresses, floo addresses, and in most cases, telephone numbers. Right. So that sort of thing, he could do from the Sawyers. He'd have to be careful, of course, making sure Brady was elsewhere while such calls were being made. Last thing he wanted was to have to Obliviate him.

The trip back to the Sawyers proved to be a bit of an adventure, given he hadn't requested a return port key. Then again, even if he had, how would he explain his sudden appearance. If Brady saw it... Rasalas realized that likely, the guy was going to learn about magic. Staying in such close proximity, with a number of pressing matters now coming to the forefront... it was just an inevitable discovery. Given, Aaron knew of his secret, but... even that was illegal, if his shattered memory was right. Non-magical people were not allowed to know. It was a hard and fast rule.

It was nearly dinner time before Rasalas returned to the Sawyers. He'd ended up taking the GO Train and bus, being let off at Bennett Road. Wait. Hadn't he done that before? No matter, he stepped into the parlour, and just in time, by the smells coming from the kitchen, along with the voices coming from the dining room.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Rasalas meets his solicitor, Kate Lewis; Preparations for the Halloween event continue to take place; and Brady takes Rasalas for a ride on his motorcycle, much to the wizard's amusement.<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: (1) A reminder, the timeline has been moved forward by ten years._

_(2) AWP – Associated Wizarding Press. We have Reuters and the Associated Press in the real world, so who says there wouldn't be a Wizarding world equivalent?_


	7. Legal Matters I

_Posted Nov 27, 2014._

_SUMMARY: __Rasalas meets his solicitor, Kate Lewis; Preparations for the Halloween event continue to take place; and Brady takes Rasalas for a ride on his motorcycle, much to the wizard's amusement._

* * *

><p><strong>107. LEGAL MATTERS I<br>October 14 – 21, 2005**

"_I busted a mirror and got seven years bad luck, but my lawyer thinks he can get me five."_

_- Steven Wright_

* * *

><p><em>Friday, October 14, 2005<em>

For the past few days, Rasalas had been reading from some of the books he'd bought on Monday. Knowing there was an important exam at the end of the school year, he had focused on doing a review of the subjects he would have studied while at Hogwarts. He had also made enquiries about the examination process, and learned that both O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s could be taken at any time, not just at the end of fifth and seventh years. It only made sense, considering one might decide to study a subject they'd not taken while as a student.

His study session was interrupted, when there was a knock at the front door. He hurried down the stairs, and into the parlour. Like it had been for most of the week, he effectively had the house to himself.

He pulled the door open, to find a woman standing there, poised to knock again. Rasalas guessed she was in her mid-thirties. She had curly black hair and a pointed face. She wore a sharp business suit, and carried with her a large portfolio that was strapped over her shoulder.

"Mr. Black?" she questioned.

"You would be Kate Lewis? Come in," Rasalas invited. She stepped into the parlour, and Rasalas led her into the dining room, where he was set up.

"You're reviewing for your O.W.L. exams," she guessed.

"Yeah. Gringotts did warn me about this year being important," Rasalas answered, as he began marking pages in the books that were open, and stacking them neatly off to the side.

"Knowing who you truly are, I was able to gather a bit of information from the English ministry. Perhaps the most pressing, is your expulsion from Hogwarts."

"My what?"

"You truly don't remember any of it?"

"No. I... Miss Lewis—"

"Call me Kate."

"I swear to you. I remember virtually nothing about my life before the middle of September. Until someone told me, I didn't even know my name. And even that was wrong—with my disguise. I know who I'm supposed to be, but... if I was using an alias and a disguise at the time I was attacked, then there had to be a damned good reason for it.

"My limited research on the matter has turned up more than a few dark incidents, and so perhaps _Harry Potter_ needs to stay dead. I know at this point the Canadian ministry only recognizes me as Rasalas Black, and so that's how it will stay."

"So you don't wish to appeal your conviction and expulsion at the beginning of August."

"That would mean people would know I'm alive, now, wouldn't it?" Rasalas pointed out. "I wanted to disappear, and perhaps it worked a little better than planned. I... there are a few people I will be getting into contact with, so they know I'm actually all right, but... everyone else... based on what I've discovered, they can all go hang."

Kate had pulled out a pad of paper and a dicta-quill, and it was then scratching out shorthand notes, easily keeping up with the conversation.

"I guess then, comes the next question. Albus Dumbledore's attempts at accessing the Potter estate. What would you like to do?"

"I'm having Gringotts allow him limited access to the funds, with instruction to record every knut he takes. I know there's a lot of coin there, so—"

"Dumbledore can still argue that there was written consent," said Kate.

"I have two documents on file with the bank, signed with a blood quill," said Rasalas, "One of which is the 'written' permission for Dumbledore to withdraw funds. The second, meanwhile, is coupled with the warning Gringotts sent me. It is a statement to Gringotts that, while I have given written permission for Dumbledore to access my vaults, I have in fact only done so to assist the bank in evidence-gathering."

Kate gave a nod. Yes, he'd been coached well. The goblins were sharp as tacks. Dumbledore was playing with fire, stealing money from one of the bank's wealthiest clients. The man did overreach on a lot of affairs.

"So you have that all well in hand. What's next?"

"I need to take on tutors for a number of magical subjects, particularly potions. Though I can probably get through some of the material on my own, it's better if I have someone to work with me."

"All right. I'll look into it. You should be aware, finding tutors may take some time," said Kate. She waited for the quill to catch up, before asking, "What's next?"

Like the meeting at Gringotts, the meeting with Kate lasted the entire morning, and in fact, she was still there when Ryan and Aaron got back for lunch. After a brief introduction, Kate excused herself, and made quick departure.

"S-s-so is she a—" Ryan began.

"Witch, yes," Rasalas answered, "We'll likely be seeing her on occasion."

"Getting some answers from the magical world," Aaron guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

"Yeah, something like that. I mean, it was one conversation at the bank, now I know my parents aren't out there looking for me. It's a piece of closure."

They heard the front door open and close, and seconds later, both Phil and Brady joined them in the dining room. Casey had returned to the house a half-hour earlier, and was then busy preparing lunch. Rasalas quickly packed up his books, and set them on the smaller table off to the side, with the intent of picking up again after lunch was finished.

"No matter what, it's good to get results, rather than, 'we're still working on it'—no offence intended toward miss Peterson, but..."

Both Ryan and Aaron nodded along.

"Yeah, we get it," said Aaron.

"Did you mourn? For your parents?" asked Ryan.

"I... I don't know. Maybe. But like just about everything else, if I did, I don't remember."

"Then... on Samhain, you should join us. P-p-part of the ritual we do after dinner is to acknowledge ffff-family who are no longer with us."

"I... I don't think I'd be comfortable," Rasalas answered, "That sounds like something that's private, right?"

"It would be perfectly fine if you join us," said Phil.

"I'll have to think about it, but thank you for the offer."

He gave a smile.

"If anything, I think the life I have now is a step up from the life I've forgotten. The few flash memories I do get... they don't paint a very nice picture."

"Everything happens for a reason, Rasalas," said Aaron. "I have to think you were meant to meet us."

"All right. Enough talk about that dark event, boys," said Phil, "We had an interesting phone call this morning. FX95, the country station out of Oshawa wants to meet with us this afternoon."

"How'd they get wind of the event?" Aaron wondered.

"My P.R. people likely told 'em," said Brady.

"So this event won't be so private now, boys. We're already looking into fencing, portable toilets..."

Rasalas shook his head. "We've created a monster."

"Oh yeah. It's gettin' crazy," Brady agreed, "Record label's sendin' people along prob'ly next week. My guys should be up later in the week, an' the rig with all our gear about the same time."

"The temporary stage set up will be on site likely on the twenty-fourth, and we'll be setting up the rides likely the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth," said Phil. "And boys, I'll really need your help."

"I'll get mom to write a letter to the school letting them know," said Aaron, "Probably that entire week then, plus the thirty-first."

"Yeah, about right."

"I remember now... you guys let me stay in a tent on the property. Will that be allowed?" Rasalas questioned.

"We can charge a bit more for that, yeah," said Phil, "Guess we'll need to call our neighbour about borrowing his field..."

The meeting with the radio station's promotional department that afternoon provided yet another surprise: they would promote the event, if an opening act could be added. That turned out to be a guy out of Stony Creek Ontario, named Tim Knight. Aaron immediately knew who it was, and could only grin madly, knowing what his music sounded like.

"You know... if you guys can be talked into doing a song together, there'll probably be fainting spells in the crowd," he smirked.

One of the executives only smirked right back. "I think Mr. Knight has exactly that in mind, that is, if Mr. Gibson here will agree to it."

Now it was Ryan's turn to smirk. "I think th-th-the only one that's gonna faint is my b—well, uh, I mean, like, um, y'know, my best friend here."

That earned him a swat for his comment.

"We'd like for the pair of you to also visit the station, perhaps on the day before the event gets under way," said another executive, "Crime stoppers is doing a spot on the the attack, Mr. Black, and most certainly, a short interview might further jog peoples' memories."

"Well... if you think it's a good idea, then sure," Rasalas agreed.

Brady gave a nod. If Rasalas wanted to do it, then sure, why not? For Brady, this was old-hat. It went with the territory.

"The label's sendin' people up next week," he said.

* * *

><p>From then on out, it was impossible for Rasalas to concentrate on his review, given the amount of activity going on, both in the house, and on the property in general. Fencing had arrived on Monday, with crews a crew installing it around the inner residential property first, with the larger perimeter fence being installed around the field directly east.<p>

The temporary stage arrived on Tuesday, and its set up was ongoing, thanks to a crew from Scarborough. It was decided that the stage would face the lake, so the sound wouldn't bother the neighbours to the east.

Then, on Thursday, a tour bus arrived, along with a transport truck. Both had Brady's name and image on the side of it, still decorated from his summer tour. For the time being, both were parked behind—or on the north side of the commercial shop, since the lot was pretty much empty. The lot was used when working on large pieces of machinery that were too large to fit indoors.

Given the Sawyers didn't have a loading dock of any sort, a heavy-duty forklift was required to unload the truck. Of course, most of it wouldn't be unloaded until late the following week, but there was a couple of items that Brady wanted right away, though he remained tight-lipped as to exactly what they were. Rasalas could only wonder what his new friend was up to.

* * *

><p>At the crack of dawn the following morning, Rasalas found out exactly what Brady was up to, when he came knocking on the door.<p>

"You still got my jacket?" he asked, when Rasalas opened the door, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Brady was already dressed.

"Yeah, of course. What do you need—"

"Get yourself dressed an' bring it."

"God... what time is it?"

"Jus' hurry it up."

"Why... oh... all right, just give me a minute," said Rasalas, still trying to shake the cobwebs out. He closed the door and quickly dressed, pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He then dug in the closet for Brady's jacket—something he'd not given a whole lot of thought about since being released from the hospital. Perhaps he wanted it back.

Deciding he looked presentable, he opened the door, finding Brady still waiting for him in the hallway.

"What's the hurry?"

"C'mon, follow me. Can't let no one know 'bout what we're doin'."

"I detect mischief afoot," Rasalas grinned.

"No, no, jail break, more like it," Brady answered, as they hurried down the stairs.

They passed through the dining room, with Brady collecting a jacket from the back of one of the chairs, and slipping it on. It was almost identical to the one he now held in his hand, save for the patches.

"I thought... so you—"

"Bought a new one," said Brady, easily seeing what Rasalas was about to ask, "You needed it more than I did."

"But..."

"It's yours... though I'd like the vest back," said Brady, as they left the house, and began to cross the yard to the commercial shop.

"Deal," Rasalas grinned, as he threw the jacket on. It was a rather chilly morning, with the temperature just above freezing, their breaths hanging in the air. Making sure Brady couldn't see what he was about to do, he produced his wand and discreetly pointed it at his friend, casting a warming charm, before doing the same to himself. Gods, it was a little chilly... just like...

He gave a shudder and actually stopped walking, as a memory hit full-force. Dark shapes... Dementors.

"Rasalas?"

"I... it's nothing," Rasalas answered, quickly stowing his wand. Had he seen it?

Brady kept on walking, and Rasalas quickly caught up. They had arrived at the shop, but he was going around to the side and to the back. What in the world was he up to?

The answer came when they arrived at something that was covered by a large grey tarp.

"This here's my girlfriend," Brady smirked, before yanking the tarp off. Rasalas was about to question exactly why he would be keeping his girlfriend under a tarp, until...

It was not a human being, but a monster of a motorcycle. It was all black, save for the chrome, and the words "Harley-Davidson" were stencilled on the petrol tank.

"It's... wicked," Rasalas grinned, "Though... I hope you don't make love to it."

That earned a rude gesture, as Brady opened one of the side compartments, and pulled out two helmets.

"You'll be needin' one of these."

"Err... right," said Rasalas, accepting one of them.

Brady pulled off his cap, and stuck it in the compartment, before putting on his helmet.

"Here... it works like this..."

With a little help, Rasalas' helmet was done up securely. Brady was then fumbling with the keyring secured to one of the belt loops of his jeans. The key ring was linked by a chain to his wallet in his back pocket—Rasalas had seen him take it out enough times by this point.

"Oh. Wait. You wanted this..." Rasalas remembered, before slipping out of the vest. "It's really cool though."

"I'll get'cha one," Brady promised, as he accepted his property back. He quickly slipped it on.

"So where are we going?"

"Dunno, just away from here a while," Brady answered, as he sat on the bike. "Get on behind me..."

Rasalas did so, quickly finding the second set of foot rests. If anything, it was exactly like flying a broom, other than the fact he was a passenger rather than the one driving.

"How do I hold on?"

"Jus' put'cher arms 'round my waist."

"Oh. Uh, okay."

As Rasalas did as asked, the bike came to life, momentarily startling the young wizard. And as they got moving, Rasalas found himself presented with yet another memory, although it was mostly feel and sound... of another bike. Perhaps he'd been asleep, but... how was... unless it was a memory from when he was a baby. Was that even possible?

The pair of them roared out of the driveway, and onto Bennett Road. It was then just after sunrise, though the cloud ceiling somewhat dimmed it. Rasalas quickly realized they wouldn't be able to talk to each other, the bike being so noisy. No matter, it was just so similar to being on a broom. God, if only...

It was getting more and more difficult, he realized, to keep his true nature a secret. Rasalas had a strong suspicion that Brady didn't do this sort of thing for just anyone, and really, it was just the latest in a string of... well... very kind overtures that he was by no means expected to do. Rasalas now felt he was falling short on his end of the bargain.

They very quickly covered the mile and a quarter up to the busy 401 motorway. Brady stopped briefly, before continuing north. Rasalas caught a glimpse of the motorway, and it became obvious as to why they'd not gone that way: the traffic heading west was barely moving. He remembered the amount of traffic encountered when Ryan had picked him up from the hospital, but this... it was not even 8 o'clock in the morning!

Bennett Road ended at Highway 2, and so they turned right, heading east. That led them to another major highway, the 35-115, which ran north/south. And then, Rasalas quickly learned his friend had a lead foot (or thumb, maybe, since the throttle was a hand control), as they were quickly leaving the other traffic behind. 'Great. Last thing I need, to be thrown in jail... or end up dead,' he thought, sarcastically.

Still, it was a bit of a thrill, if he admitted it. No different than him on a broom, if he really thought about it. Rasalas made a silent promise to himself that somehow, he would take Brady for a ride; it was only fair.

It seemed like very little time had passed at all, when they arrived in Peterborough, a city about fifty kilometres northeast of the Sawyers'. There, the highway ended rather abruptly. From there, they turned heading west, and a few minutes later, they had pulled into a McDonald's restaurant. Fleeing the house on such short notice, breakfast had been neglected. It was also a chance to get off and stretch their legs.

Inside, the restaurant was relatively busy, but the queue moved relatively quickly, and soon they took seats in a booth with their orders.

"Is it freaky that I don't remember if I've ever eaten in a place like this?"

"No. I don' think so," Brady answered. "But.. you're remeberin' stuff, right?"

"Flashes, most of the time. It's like... my brain wants to remember, and it's this close—" Rasalas held his index finger and his thumb close together, "—and something prevents it from jumping the gap.

"But now I'm certain the life that's unfolding for me is tenfold better than the one I left behind. The documents from the bank... and the evidence my solicitor has collected... they make me out to be some sort of hero one moment, the scapegoat of the hour the next."

"But there's people who care about'cha."

"Perhaps. Such as my godfather. I'll be sending him a post—I mean, a letter in the next few days. He's the reason behind my... well, why I'm not hurting for coin. And I'm sure I'll find others as well... if they were honest friends, then I will let them know I'm alive and well. If not... they can go get bent."

That got a laugh out of Brady.

"You talk funny."

"You only notice that now?" Rasalas smirked. "You talk funny too."

That only got another grin from Brady.

Ten minutes later, they got up to leave, breakfast not being all that extensive. Just outside the restaurant, as they were getting ready to leave, a group of people approached, all of them female.

"Uh, Mr. Gibson?" one of them dared ask. "Could... could we get a picture with you?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Which one of you has the camera? I'll take the photo so you can all be in it," Rasalas offered.

That ended up taking several minutes, as not only did they want pictures, but one of them had a CD they wanted autographed. Brady happily obliged, and the group went on their way.

"I guess that happens a fair bit," Rasalas guessed, as Brady fetched the helmets from the saddle compartment.

"Yeah, pretty much. An' I don't mind doin' it, long's it's not a mob."

"I think my past self had a problem something like that. At least that's what my solicitor's been able to dig up."

"You feel like headin' back, or wanna ride a bit further?"

"Let's keep going," Rasalas decided.

There were no appointments or visitors he needed to be back at the house for, and if Brady wanted to play hooky, then so be it. Of course, his management team or whatever would likely have a few choice words for him when they got back, but... he was a grown man, and they did work for _him_, right?

Given the number of quiet back roads and lightly travelled highways, they were gone the rest of the day. Their ride took them as far north as Bobcaygeon, before they headed back south and east, stopping in Port Perry for lunch. They then kept heading west, ending up in Markham. This also meant heavier traffic, and so they headed back east, staying away from the busier streets and highways wherever possible.

* * *

><p>The sun had just set when they finally pulled into the driveway at the Sawyers. This time Brady parked the bike in front of the house, rather than behind the commercial shop. Almost immediately, the front door to the house opened, and both Ryan and Aaron stepped out onto the porch.<p>

"The note was nice, but..."

"We went for a ride," Rasalas answered, grinning madly.

"Yeah, we figured that," said Aaron.

"Ma w-w-w-was concerned though. We figured you guys would only be g-g-gone for a few hours."

"Bein' stuck here since the beginning of the month, needed to get out for a bit," said Brady, "If my guys were—"

"No, nothing like that," said Ryan, "Though Da th-thought it was a waste of a day's planning."

"I think I liked it better back out on the road," said Rasalas, feigning disappointment, "Unfortunately my arse has fallen asleep and it feels like there are tiny pins and needles being jabbed into the back of my legs. And I'm starving."

"M-m-ma left both of you a plate."

Rasalas once again couldn't help but grin, feeling the warmth of both friendship and family. The Sawyers weren't his parents, but they most certainly treated him as an honorary son.

"C'mon, then. Food's about right, an' a hot shower," said Brady.

"So where all did you guys go, anyway?"

"Peterborough," Rasalas answered, "And I remember a place called Bobcaygeon... had to giggle at that one. What a funny name. And where was that place we stopped for lunch—"

"Port Perry," Brady finished, "Stickin' to the back roads, less traffic. Good to get out ridin' again."

"We heard you guys go," said Aaron, as they passed through the parlour and into the dining room.

"He woke me up just before 7:30," Rasalas remembered, "He was being rather persistent, so I went. But... glad I did, it was wicked fun."

"So does that m-mean you will be obtaining a bike of your own?" Ryan teased.

"Maybe," Rasalas grinned, "Though. Being a passenger was just as much fun, I think."

Aaron looked at Ryan and stage whispered, "I think Mr. Gibson's got himself an admirer."

That earned him a rude gesture.

"Right then." And Rasalas burst out laughing.

As Ryan had promised, there were two plates being kept warm in the oven. Rather than sit in the dining room, they ate at the smaller table in the kitchen. The room had been modified years earlier, adding a small sun room and breakfast nook. Clusters of dried herbs hung from a mesh suspended from the ceiling, and a number of potted plants lined the window sills.

"You guys know you look almost alike," Aaron commented.

Both Rasalas and Brady had not bothered to remove their jackets. Not to mention, their outfits were almost the same—dark jeans, and a dark shirt. Only their footwear did not match: Brady's cowboy boots to Rasalas' trainers.

"Guess we do," said Rasalas, with a shrug, "Though I don't think I'm ready for the piercings or the tattoos just yet."

That earned a smirk out of Brady.

"Though I think I might shave my head," Rasalas continued, "The helmet was awkward with this much hair in the way. If I'm going to be out on the bike, I'll need to do something about it."

"Okay, now that's gonna be a stark contrast," said Aaron, "I'll help you do it if you want."

"That would be excellent."

Ryan smirked again. "He's been b-b-b-b-bewitched by a bad boy with a bad toy..."

Brady looked at the ginger-haired young man a moment, before giving a smirk of his own.

"That sounds like a song."

* * *

><p><em>CHAPTER NOTES: Country fans out there. If you haven't figured out who Brady's real-world counterpart is, shame on you. And I do have to smirk, thinking of Harry going all biker, y'know. What will Dumbledore think? Or Mrs. Weasley... or McGonagall, for that matter?<em>

_UP NEXT: Ryan discovers something rather shocking about himself, giving Rasalas a very good idea what to get him for his birthday; Rasalas and Brady give an interview at a local radio station; and the weekend event unfolds with few wrinkles..._


	8. Halloween Throw-Down 2005

_Posted Nov 29, 2010._

_SUMMARY: __Ryan discovers something rather shocking about himself, giving Rasalas a very good idea what to get him for his birthday; Rasalas and Brady give an interview at a local radio station; and the weekend event unfolds with few wrinkles..._

* * *

><p><strong>108. HALLOWEEN THROW-DOWN 2005<strong>

**October 23 – 31, 2005**

"_If music be the food of love, play on."_

_- William Shakespeare_

* * *

><p>If the previous week was intense, the final week of October bordered on insane. Both Ryan and Aaron had taken the week off of school, since their help was most definitely required for last-minute preparations. Then came the ride enthusiast group out of Pickering, who helped to put up the amusement rides, and along with them, came a number of games and concessions—essentially forming a small midway. The fencing was completed, as was the temporary stage, minus the equipment Brady's crew would set up much closer to the actual show.<p>

Brady himself had already met with the other major act on the concert bill, and they were holed up on his tour bus for the good portion of an afternoon. There had been mention the two musicians would team up for at least one song, and that notion most definitely had Aaron excited.

With the storm of chaos that swirled around them that week, several events stood out, beginning with October 23. That day, Rasalas once again visited Simcoe Crossing, first to drop off a letter with Garokat, addressed to Sirius. The next stop was a visit to his solicitor. She gave a start, as Rasalas lowered the hood of his jumper, revealing he now had very little hair.

"Good grief, Rasalas."

"Do you like it?"

"It's rather startling. What in the world possessed you to make such a change?"

"An observation when I was out with Brady on his motorcycle. A motorcycle helmet doesn't go on long hair very easily."

"I see."

Kate pursed her lips, obviously not all that impressed with Rasalas' changed image. He'd gone with a pair of dark jeans, a leather motorcycle jacket, and a hooded jumper, easily mirroring his famous friend (as she remembered him).

"I've been reviewing your records from the English ministry," said Kate, finally, "One thing that stood out, is the fact that the _Trace_ has been dispelled from your person."

"The _Trace_?"

"It's an enchantment put on a minor witch or wizard when they first begin their magical education. It normally dispels naturally on their seventeenth birthday. It seems this has taken place two years early."

"Well... I _did_ almost die," Rasalas pointed out, "'course that has me wondering now, what other magical spells or enchantments on me were fouled or changed?"

"Hmm... a good question," Kate agreed. "Something we'll definitely explore at another time. The immediate consequence of this, is that you are now eligible to take Apparition lessons, and apply for your Apparition license."

"Oh. That would be excellent. I mean, I've not seen much of... but..."

"I'll line up an instructor then."

"It'll have to wait until at least the beginning of November," said Rasalas.

"It'll likely be later than that, possibly not until December. But yes, I'm certainly aware of your festival coming up this weekend. And on that, I would love to attend."

"Of course you're invited," Rasalas grinned, reaching into his pouch, and pulling out a guest pass. "It's good for the entire weekend."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, on October 25, the excitement was a little closer to home. It was later in the evening, with Rasalas working on a bit of review in his room. Not a whole lot of review was actually happening, considering both Ryan and Aaron had decided to invade his room.<p>

The pair were actually helping Rasalas with his review. Though neither of them could cast magic themselves, they could definitely ask questions from the text book. The pair had lived through two years of high school exams—three with Ryan, and this was no different.

As it was, Rasalas was twirling his wand between his fingers, answering questions, when it slipped, and clattered to the floor. Not thinking much, Ryan reached down and snatched it up—and a tiny shower of red sparks bloomed from the end.

"Hang on. Ryan, give the wand a flick. That shouldn't have happened."

"What..." Ryan shrugged, but gave the wand a flick. This time, the bloom was a bit bigger.

"Interesting. That shouldn't happen. A Muggle can't handle a wand safely," said Rasalas.

Aaron smirked. "Let's give it to Brady then."

"And you're twisted, b-b-b-bro."

"A wand isn't a prank toy, Aaron. Now seriously. Ryan, I want you to try this. Imagine a light blooming from the end of it. While thinking that, speak firmly, Lumos. Hear it again... looo-mOHs."

"Lumos," Ryan parroted.

"Right. Put it together and..."

"_Lumos_!" said Ryan.

A reasonably bright white light bloomed from the tip of the borrowed wand.

Rasalas could only grin. "You're a wizard, Ryan."

"For r-r-real?"

"You just cast your first spell. Simple as it might be. Tell me, what did you feel?"

"It felt... like a warm tingle in my hand when the light formed."

"There is no denying it. You're a wizard."

"How... how d-d-do I get rid of it? The light?"

"Visualize it being extinguished, and say, Nox. Like knocking. NOX."

"_Nox_!"

The light dimmed and vanished.

"So I can d-d-do the same stuff you're doing?"

"You'll have to learn it, just like I have, but yeah, eventually," Rasalas answered, as Ryan passed him his wand back, "We'll have to get you a proper wand though. This one's mine, and wands are matched to witches and wizards, see."

"Yeah, I g-g-get it. How much does it cost?"

"About sixty-five bucks, with the exchange rate, or about seven galleons. But don't worry about it, I'll get it for you. I mean, your birthday's coming up, right? So count that as one of your birthday gifts."

"Thanks, man." Ryan clapped his friend on the back.

"So, uh, a wand's a big thing I guess," said Aaron.

"Rite of passage, yeah. Normally a witch or wizard will be matched to a wand before they start school. Close to their eleventh birthday. We'll see about doing it Monday morning if possible."

"We'll make sure Da knows, I think they can get by www-without us for a couple of hours. But... seriously. I'm a wizard."

"Very much so. I..." Rasalas thought for a moment. "When we visit the wand maker, he'll likely have some questions for you. And I think at least one of your parents need to come along."

The rest of the evening ended up being a little more engaging, as Rasalas now found a second purpose for review. Though Ryan had only just found out he was magical, he was most interested in learning, even if he had to borrow Rasalas' wand.

* * *

><p>The morning of October 28 found both Brady and Rasalas visiting the studios of FX95, the country radio station out of Oshawa. Rasalas was certainly nervous about talking to the media, and with good reason. His former life, he'd been vilified in the press. Or at least, in the English wizarding press, namely the <em>Daily Prophet<em>. He'd certainly seen more than a few back copies of the paper.

Since Brady seemed a lot more comfortable talking to the media, Rasalas decided to let him do most of it, content to only listen, for the most part. Unfortunately, the radio hosts would have nothing of it.

"...and that's FX95 traffic for Dan's Towing, call anywhere in Durham, 905-555-8176. You can report traffic problems to us any time on Bell, by pressing star 3995. I'll have more traffic in ten minutes," Jane, the female host, finished.

"It's 8:37 am, and we're joined in studio by Brady Gibson, and Rasalas Black, good to have both of you on air with us," Chris, the other host introduced them.

"Good to be here," said Brady.

"Err... likewise," said Rasalas, shyly.

"Your story has most certainly drawn a fair bit of attention, Rasalas," said Jane.

"Uh. I'm sure it has."

"Gotta talk 'little louder," said Brady.

That earned a glare from the young wizard, and chuckles from the host.

"Forgive me, not all that used to this sort of thing," said Rasalas, leaning a little closer to the microphone in front of him.

"Durham Region Crime stoppers is presently running a spot covering the attack you were a victim of," said Chris.

"As my solicitor has already explained to me. If it'll help."

"What did you think when you learned that Brady here was responsible for your rescue?" questioned Jane.

"At the time, I had no clue who he was. I mean, it was another friend of mine who recognized his jacket."

"It was the only thing handy to cover 'im with," said Brady.

"And I notice the pair of you came in looking almost identical," said Chris.

"I let 'im keep it 'an replaced it, is all."

"So next question, where did you two meet?"

"He showed up at the Sawyers' place a few days after I was let out of the hospital," Rasalas jumped in, feeling a little more confident. "Honestly, he surprised me. I mean, the kindness I've experienced since the incident back at the beginning of September has really thrown me. And then Brady comes all the way from the southern U.S., just to see me and make sure I was well.

"See, though I remember very, very little from my past... there's a part of me that keeps saying I've not been treated well in my former life. That very few have done anything close to what Brady and the Sawyers have done for me in the short memory I now have."

"Where did the idea for the concert come from?" questioned Jane.

"It was my idea," said Brady, "Rasalas had a ticket for my Toronto show, 'an it ain't right he missed it, it's what I said. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer got talkin' 'an it went from there. Really lookin' forward to throwin' down with Tim Knight on Sunday."

"And the pair of you have met already?" Chris questioned, "Rumour has it the pair of you will perform at least one song together."

"Maybe," Brady hedged, "But yeah, we hooked up earlier in the week."

"Can we expect anything new on Sunday?"

"Maybe," Brady said again.

"Now, though your sophomore album is still charting well, are you working on new material?"

"I'm always writin'," Brady answered, "I wrote most of the songs on my last two albums, so yeah, definitely there's new material coming. Can't give a date or anythin' like that though. Got a new idea for a song last week, funny where sh—uh, stuff comes from."

Rasalas smirked, knowing what Brady had almost said.

"When this event finishes, where you headed next?" Jane questioned.

"Uh, from here? Relaxin', gettin' in a little huntin' an' fishin' back home. Bit of R n' R, nothin' happenin' until December. Then we got shows in Athens an' Atlanta, Christmas season, right. Thinkin' I might invite my boy Rasalas here to come join me."

Rasalas grinned at the endearment. "I'd be honoured."

"Last thoughts before we wrap up?" Chris questioned.

"Anyone out there knows who's responsible for what happened to Rasalas, give 'im a hand and do the right thing. Number's 1-800-222-8477. Crime Stoppers'll take your info anonymously."

"Or visit their website, www dot durham region crime stoppers dot ca... this information is also available on our website, FX Country 95 dot fm," Jane added.

"Brady. Rasalas. Thank you for your time this morning. And we'll see you on Sunday," said Chris.

"Sure will. Y'all come on out, it's gonna be a throw-down."

* * *

><p>Even though Brady wouldn't actually take the stage until Sunday evening, the weekend event was busy right from the start, with the gates opening at noon hour on Friday. Members of the steam club had begun to arrive that morning, with the engines all in steam by 11 am.<p>

With Ryan and Aaron being in charge of the miniature steam operation, Phil was responsible for the steam tractors. There were four of them on site, including a pair of them which he owned. They were being fired up when Brady and Rasalas had left for the radio station, and were all up and running when they returned.

The rides, meanwhile, were opened at noon hour, with concessions opening soon after. The grounds had been nicely decorated for Halloween, a process that had taken a good portion of the week and lots of help from the steam club to pull off. It had triggered several flash memories with Rasalas.

With Brady disappearing very quickly after they arrived back at the house, Rasalas joined up with Ryan and Aaron, helping to run the steam trains. That took most of the day, with them not finishing up until well after dark. Given his limited experience around the equipment, Rasalas only worked handling the tickets, or working as the conductor (or guard) at the end of the train. He was more than happy when they called it a night, as it had been incredibly busy. Sleep found him rather quickly.

* * *

><p>Saturday, meanwhile, somewhat tested everyone's patience, as the weather decided not to cooperate, bringing uncomfortably muggy temperatures, and thunderstorms. The trains ran intermittently, as did the rides, and driving the trains became an adventure with the damp or wet rails. It certainly made for some great pictures and video.<p>

The weather cleared up enough for the evening's entertainment, with a few local bands taking to the stage. Rasalas decided to check things out, and give his feet a rest—he'd spent a good portion of both days so far on his feet.

Given the event had been born out of Brady wanting to do a make-up concert for his new friend, Rasalas was given V.I.P. status, as were the Sawyers. That gave them special seats front row centre, grouped with about two hundred other seats in a section separated from the rest of the seating. As he quickly discovered, the V.I.P. seating also served another purpose.

"Mr. Black," said a man sitting to his left.

Rasalas at first thought he was seeing Brady. But, taking the man in, Rasalas remembered who it was. He looked about ten years older than Brady, though he also wore a baseball cap, and kept his hair very short.

"Mr. Knight," Rasalas greeted him.

"Sorry to hear about your... accident. How you keeping?"

"Doing pretty well. It's nice so many people are willing to help me out. It's meant a lot to me."

"Hearing what happened, it was only right I came out. Actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask and get your permission first, but... I would like to suggest people make donations to the Canadian Brain Injury Association on your behalf."

"I... yeah, I would like that. Both the doctor... the neurologist, and my... social worker, they told me about this sort of thing. It happens frequently."

"It does."

Rasalas thought for a moment. "We should have donated part of the gate proceeds."

Tim hummed in agreement. "So... you've never heard my music?"

"Nope. I only recently heard Brady's believe it or not. I mean, his music's wicked and all, but... I'm pretty new to this kind of music. Maybe I liked it in my past life, but now? Yeah, still pretty new."

"Well... if you like his stuff, you'll like mine. We're a bit similar in music style. We're thinking of doing a collaboration."

The evening's main act was taking to the stage, and Rasalas sensed someone sit down to his right.

"Your feet quit on 'ya?"

"Hey, I was working hard, running the train all day," Rasalas smirked, "Where do you disappear to all day anyway?"

"Last minute prep," Brady answered, "Puttin' this together's a lot of work."

"Oh."

Further conversation was interrupted, as the band started—and start, they did.

_...the Devil went down to Georgia  
>He was lookin' for a soul to steal<br>He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind  
>And he was willin' to make a deal...(1)<em>

When the song finished, there was a strong round of applause, but really, the song had sounded rough, even to Rasalas.

"Say Tim... 'ya know that one?" Brady questioned.

"Yeah, of course. Thinking of doing it?"

"No. Thinkin' _we_ need to do it."

"Should I leave you two alone?" Rasalas grinned.

* * *

><p>Sunday, meanwhile, being the height of the event, also brought with it the warmest day felt since the middle of August (at least for those who could remember), as the mercury pushed to nearly thirty degrees Celsius (eighty-six on the old Fahrenheit scale). More than a few people were caught off guard by the unexpected heat, having come prepared for the sharply cooler weather of late, being deep into Autumn.<p>

Rasalas found himself changing into shorts and a white tee shirt by mid-morning, and sunscreen was a must. He was once again working with Ryan and Aaron, staffing the miniature steam train. If he thought the two previous days were busy, this seemed to easily double it. There was an unending crowd of people wanting to ride the trains, including scores of children.

With the volume of people on the grounds, it also became a little more dicey running, since the tracks crossed the pathway to the stage area. It meant slowing down and laying on the whistle, since miniature or not, a collision would still most definitely hurt.

When they finally took a break for dinner, Ryan looked like he'd just about had it.

"Y'know... with all the stupid p-p-people around... why don't we j-j-just remove the wwww-warning labels, see... let the problem sssss-sort itself out."

Both Rasalas and Aaron burst out laughing.

"Oh, Bill Engval said it best... people like that should just wear signs that say 'I'm Stupid', it would save the rest of us a lot of time."

"Maybe next year we need to get some people to work on crowd control at the crossing," Rasalas suggested.

"Y-y-yeah, thinking along the same thing. We'll mention it to Da once the event's done. Little late to be d-d-doing anything about it now."

"Still can't believe how busy it is. And I thought yesterday was crazy."

"The main event's today, Ras," Aaron pointed out, "And the heat, it's almost a perfect storm."

"Something Tim mentioned last night... having people donate to the... what was it... the Canadian Brain Injury Association."

"Damn. Th-th-that should've been done at the beginning," Ryan realized, "But... I'll still mention it to Da. Even donating ten p-p-percent of the gate, it's gonna be huge."

"And Brady will likely donate part of his cut too."

Rasalas gave a nod. There was no doubt, he was an honourable man.

"So remind me again, when are we done with the train?"

"After the first act ends their set," said Aaron, "Once Tim takes to the stage, it'll be impossible to cross the path way. We might even end up shutting things down sooner, it really depends on the foot traffic."

"You can take off once we pull the train off, w-we can look after cleaning up."

"Thanks, guys."

"Hey, th-th-this show was meant for you, right? Maybe not the private show Brady wanted, but.. he's here for you, don't f-f-f-forget that."

As Aaron had suspected, they were forced to close down the miniature steam train rides before the first act was even half-finished, with the amount of foot traffic heading toward the seating. Other than the V.I.P. section, there was no reserved seating, so it was first-come-first-served. Therefore, the seating quickly filled up, leaving everyone else to find places on the ground. Most had brought something to put on the ground to make it slightly more comfortable, but only marginally so.

The first act had finished and Tim's set was about a third of the way finished before Ryan and Aaron joined Rasalas. It was loud, so they couldn't really talk to one another, but Rasalas grinned, seeing traces of dirt on Ryan's face. They'd likely gotten into another grease fight or something. He was sure he'd get the story later. No matter, their arrival was timely, with the song Tim chose next.

"Normally I have to do this one on my own," he was saying, "seeing as Lightning Jack's on the west coast right now... however, I'm privileged to have someone else here to fill in. Let's see some hands for _Brady Gibson_!"

Brady hurried out from the left side of the stage, guitar in hand, as the band started up, and the crowd were immediately on their feet—not that many people weren't already. Tim was a big draw, as Rasalas quickly gathered when he had first stepped on stage to begin his set.

_I'm a bullfrog sitting on a log  
>Watching them flies like a bone to a dog<br>Hey yup the sun done coming up  
>bait, pole and a coffee cup<br>It's alright if the fish don't bite  
>I can sit here all day all night come on<br>Ain't nothing no  
>Ain't nothing gonna bring me down(2)<em>

Rasalas was startled when Aaron pulled him to his feet and started dancing. Gods... what... He couldn't help but giggle, though he knew he had two left feet. It was silly, but who was really going to take notice? Ryan, too, got up, not about to be left behind by his friends.

Tim's set lasted for another hour. Then, while the lights on stage dimmed and equipment was exchanged, he set his guitar on the stand, and hopped off the stage into the V.I.P. area.

"Err..."

"What?" Tim grinned. He was drenched with sweat, and looked tired, Rasalas could tell he'd had about as much fun as the crowd.

"Perks that g-g-g-go with being a V.I.P., Ras."

"This is true." Rasalas was still grinning madly. "That... your music's wicked."

Aaron smirked. "I think a few girls over that way actually passed out when Brady joined you on stage."

"Mr. Knight..."

Tim turned to find one of the stage crew with a large jug. It was blue in colour, with a white top.

"Thank you."

He popped the small valve on top and proceeded to drink greedily from it.

"So D-d-da wants to do something like this again next year. Goddess above, he's astounded at the gate total sssss-so far."

"You guys do this again next year, count on me coming back," Tim promised, setting the jug down at his feet. "A bit better notice, you could get some real star power every night of the event."

"What Da said... but this was all about Ras here, and really, it was Brady's idea. Da j-j-just ran with it."

"It's about time we get something like this happening in the area," Aaron threw in, "I mean, we got the Havelock Country Jamboree(3), but that's not really local."

"Well, Da's t-t-t-talking to the owners of the fields around us, seeing if w-w-we can borrow them next year. I mean, look at the size of the crowd!"

"Yeah, noticed that," said Tim, "Might wanna move the stage a little further north. Still, you guys did pretty good on less than four weeks' notice."

It took several minutes for the stage crew to swap out equipment and adjust the set up for Brady's band. Tim was using that time to sign a few autographs, since the V.I.P. area was crammed with people. With plenty of security around, it was no issue for him to oblige.

The stage had suddenly gone completely dark, save for a few small lights that came from equipment, and with that, the crowd began to stir. Showtime. Being as close to the stage as Rasalas was, he could see the silhouette of the other musicians, as they took their places.

Then, with a bright flash of lights, the band began to play, with Brady practically storming up to the microphone at front centre. He opened his mouth to sing and—darkness.

The silence was as deafening as the music, as the crowd began muttering, laughing, whistling, some of them clapping at the unexpected turn of events. Rasalas chanced a glance to the west, where the rides were set up, and sure enough, everything that way was dark, too. So was the house, and the commercial shop.

"Sssss-shit, we blew the breaker," Ryan cursed.

"Shouldn't be possible," said Aaron, "We ran the power requirement calculations a hundred times."

"Whatever happened... w-w-we're in the dark."

Suddenly there came a whistle from the stage, and everyone close stopped muttering and chattering.

"Uh, well..." Brady began, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, "Maybe not what we had planned for y'all."

There came more whistles, laughter, and some cheers from the crowd. Brady held a finger up to his lips, and the noise died down.

"Now... if everyone's real nice, I can do some of this acoustically."

Now the crowd fell completely silent, as a stage hand hurried over with a flashlight and a stool. Brady waved it off, choosing to sit cross-legged close to the edge of the stage. Once he was comfortable, he began to play:

_Hey old Friend, thanks for callin'  
>It's good to know somebody cares<br>And yeah she's gone, but I don't feel like talkin'  
>Might be just too much to bear<br>To hear somebody say it stops hurting  
>Or to hear somebody say that she ain't worth it... (4)<em>

Rasalas could only grin, hearing the crowd singing along—Aaron included. If he had to admit... that seemed to work far better than whatever Brady was originally going to open with. A number of lighters and small flashlights were seen held high in the crowd. Yes, magical. Without actual magic, he smirked in his head.

Brady ended up doing two more songs with only his guitar, before the power at last came back on. He was finally able to do the opening, but if Rasalas were honest, he liked the acoustic songs better. He certainly enjoyed the entire set, but there was something extra special about the three songs done without backup, with just his voice and guitar. Those were the memories he would take with him, and remember long after Brady had gone.

Finishing the final song from his set, Brady then took the microphone.

"The act last night did a pretty damned good rendition of an old Charlie Daniels classic, but I'm figurin' we might take a run at it ourselves."

Rasalas caught a glimpse of stage hands pushing a small set of stairs up to the stage to his right.

"That's if Mr. Knight's willin' to help me out."

Tim needed no further prompting, as he hurried up on stage by the stairs provided, with a stage hand bringing his guitar over. Now, Rasalas understood the underlying reason for Tim joining them in the V.I.P. area, as two members of Tim's band also stepped out on stage.

Needless to say, it was a real barn-burner, as the two artists delivered an astounding combined performance, bolstered by the large crowd, many of whom were singing along. When it came to country music, "_The Devil Went Down to Georgia_" was considered a standard.

It took several minutes to get the crowd to quiet down after the song finished, with the crowd showing their appreciation for both acts.

"Yeah, thanks everyone," said Tim, "Listen... uh, before we call it a night, we gotta call on a very special young man, the reason this show came about in the first place. Mr. Black! Come on up here!"

Rasalas was taken by surprise, as both Brady and Tim beckoned for him to join them on stage. He obliged, and stood between them.

"Over fifty thousand Canadians will suffer a brain injury this year," Tim continued, "Mr. Black here being only one of them. We encourage everyone to make a donation to the Canadian Brain Injury Association, so people who suffer from these injuries get the care and support they need."

"Both Tim and I are donatin' twenty-five percent of the profits from tonight's show," said Brady, "I wanna see all my fans out there back me up, it's the right thing, showin' my boy here some love an' support."

"One final thing, you guys out there have any information on what happened to Mr. Black here, give Crime Stoppers a call, they'll take your info and make this right. Thank you all, hope to see you real soon!"

"Thank y'all, and God bless!" Brady added, before resetting the microphone on its stand, as the crowd again erupted into screams and cheers.

* * *

><p>Monday, meanwhile, became special for a couple of reasons, one of which being Ryan's nineteenth birthday. Breakfast, therefore, was a rather boisterous affair, as the boy—or man of the hour received plenty of well-wishes from his friends and his parents.<p>

"Right. So, err... we need to go into Toronto," said Rasalas, as he finished eating.

"What ever for?" questioned Casey, "We've still got a day's worth of activities on the go."

"Something rather important that I have to pick up, and I need Ryan's help with it," said Rasalas.

Brady looked up from his plate, and he didn't look all that well. Rasalas felt bad for him, knowing there were several potions that could instantly heal his current ailment.

"D'ya need help?"

"No. Got it covered. Get some more rest," Rasalas answered. "We should be back before lunch."

"Does it really have to be done today?" asked Phil, "We really need to look at the dynamo set."

"Well... yeah, I guess." Ryan looked at Rasalas. "We can go t-t-tomorrow or day after. But Da's right."

"There's no hurry, and yeah, we have a lot still going on."

Casey, meanwhile, pursed her lips at Brady's condition, and stood up.

"I'll be right back."

She stepped into the kitchen. Phil, meanwhile, had to roll his eyes. "Your mother's likely gonna kill me when she finds out what one of your presents happens to be, son."

Rasalas could only smirk, now having a very good idea of what Ryan's father had got him. Question was, what would she think of him giving her son Firewhiskey? He'd certainly seen a few advertisements for the substance in back copies of the _Daily Prophet_. Given it was a magical drink, he suspected it was likely far more potent than any Muggle concoction.

Casey returned a minute later, with a mug filled with a dark fluid. She was dabbing an herb of some kind in it. She put it in front of Brady.

"Here, Mr. Gibson. Drink. It'll help clear your head."

Rasalas arched an eyebrow as Brady went to drink it. Witch. Right. Of course she would have knowledge of herbs and the power they had. It was only a small step from there to herbology and potions.

Brady nearly spit out the foul-tasting concoction, but bit down and drained the mug. He made a sour face.

"What... what's _in_ this?"

"An old herbal remedy," Casey answered, though she again pursed her lips. "I debated perhaps leaving you in the state you found yourself, but it would have been unproductive, having to listen to you complain."

Rasalas fought to keep his face neutral. God, she was channelling another mother he used to know... red hair, wasn't it? A plump lady with red hair. Lots of children too. Like Casey, she didn't put up with nonsense from anyone, be them family or friend.

"Rasalas, will you be comfortable working with Aaron for a while tonight?" asked Phil, "We have a traditional private ceremony at dusk, and Ryan kind of needs to be there."

"Yeah, of course."

"We're not leavin' 'till tomorrow or Wednesday," said Brady, "Dependin' on how busy it is, I can help."

"That would be great, but if you're uncomfortable with extra attention we won't fault you for stepping away," said Phil. "Of course, since you've handled the Y6B already... it would be great if we could get a few shots of you running at night."

"Sure... if that's what 'ya wanna do. Long's I get a few copies so I can post 'em on my MySpace page."

"So what do you have to do today then?"

"Doin' a surprise short set this afternoon. It was P.R.'s idea an' I like it. Nothin' before lunch."

Though not nearly as busy and crazy as it had been on Sunday, there were still a lot of people visiting, and in this case, many were in costume. Rasalas ended up working with the miniature train crews yet again, mostly handling tickets and keeping the queue in order.

Brady joined them off and on throughout the earlier part of the day, but left as it neared 4 pm, having to prepare for his last-minute scheduled short performance. Rasalas found someone to take over for him, and soon followed, taking the opportunity to hear him live once more before he had to leave. Of course, he had the suspicion that, if asked, Brady would likely play some of his music one on one, but... the guy had already done so much for him.

As he quickly discovered, the short set Brady put on was done with a stripped-down stage, with most of the stuff already being put away. That included most of the larger speakers, and so it was a nearly acoustic set, though his drummer was present. He only performed five songs, including two he did the previous night, and one he'd just finished writing back in September.

His set concluded as the sun was sinking below the tree line to the west, and almost immediately, the road crew began removing items for storage on the tractor trailer which had been moved in behind the stage that morning. The stage guys were also then beginning to take apart the stage itself, beginning with the canopy and coverings.

"Rasalas. Wait."

"Oh. Don't you need to get changed?"

Though he wasn't completely soaked, such as he'd been the previous night, his skin still glistened with sweat.

"Later. You goin' to get food?"

"Yeah. I liked the set. It was wicked."

"Better than last night." It wasn't a question.

"It was... I guess I'm not used to things being so loud."

"I'll get'cha a pair of ear plugs," Brady grinned. "Say, y'know, one thing I've not been able to do, an' the weekend's near done... we ain't been on the rides yet."

"We did promise to help with the train, but... when Ryan comes back, I'd love to. It's another thing I sort of remember from being here before being attacked. The rides were awesome."

They were then headed in the direction of the house and the train's loading area, while security was pushing the stragglers from the crowd toward the main driveway. With the stage area now closed, people were being encouraged to move over to the normal part of the grounds were the attractions were.

"God, can't believe how much fun this has been," Rasalas remarked, "Definitely have to do this again next year."

"Yeah, Tim was sayin' somethin' similar. I'll come back, know that much. 'an I know a few friends that might come play too."

"They play stuff like yours?"

"Yeah, pretty much. So where you goin'... or... meanin', uh, you don't plan on livin' here permanently, right?"

"No. Once I truly get my feet, than I'll have to make some decisions. I know my family left me a lot of money. I'm half-tempted to purchase the land across the road here and build my own place. The Sawyers have all but adopted me, and well... I've sort-of fell in love with the area. Weird, considering I was beaten to within an inch of my life on the overpass to the motorway a couple of miles from here."

"Shame. You could've come down my way."

"But I'm already doing that." Rasalas gave a toothy grin. "No matter where I end up, though, you've got walk-in privileges. You saved my life, and I'll never forget that."

Brady clapped his friend on the back. "It was the right thing. God wouldn't forgive me if I didn't help."

After checking with the train crew—there were still six trains running—both Rasalas and Brady went into the house for a quick bite to eat, and a change of clothes. Though it still remained quite warm, with the sun setting, cooler air would set in, as it had the previous night.

Then, they returned to the train loading area, so Ryan could join his parents.

"What kind of ceremony are they doing?" Rasalas asked, as they helped load the next train.

"It's a family ritual celebrating Samhain," Aaron answered, "They do it every year. I've joined them for a couple of years, but with this... can't exactly step away."

"Pagan ritual," said Brady.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm a christian too, but... it's quite beautiful. It's somewhat a remembrance of their family, stuff like that," Aaron answered.

"Oh. Well, it don't bother me none, if that's what'cher thinkin'. Each his own and all that sh—stuff," said Brady, "I believe in Jesus Christ, an' that's enough for me."

They only had to wait a couple of minutes, before Ryan and his father pulled up with the Y6B and its full load of passengers.

"All right boys. She's all yours. We'll be finished in about a half-hour," said Phil. "Aaron, why don't you take the throttle for a while?"

"Yes sir," Aaron grinned.

Phil stood up, and Aaron took his place.

"Mr. Gibson, you're okay working the train?"

"Should be fine." He nodded toward a pair of security guards still present.

"I'll work with the tickets. You take conductor then."

"Here."

Ryan reached into the pocket of his overalls, and pulled out a spare whistle.

"You'll n-need that."

All in all, everyone had a chance to take the throttle of the enormous locomotive. Their train seemed to be busier than the others, likely due to the fact that Brady was working either as the driver or conductor. They were sometimes delayed as people wanted to get pictures taken with him.

It was sometime later, as they were loading another group of people and getting them seated securely, that Rasalas stopped suddenly, feeling a wave of energy wash over him. The hairs on his arms all stood up on end, as though...

"Did... did you feel that?" Brady asked. He'd actually stopped in the middle of signing someone's cap.

"Yeah... static charge of some sort," said Rasalas, with a shrug.

As they went back to loading the train, though, Rasalas had a very good idea of what had just happened. It reeked of magic, magic strong enough that even Brady had felt it. Brady, meanwhile, took off his own cap a moment, and rubbed his head. Whatever it was had sent a shiver down his spine, and caused all the hair on his body to stand on end. He couldn't put a finger on what he felt, but... it was weird. Unnatural.

When Ryan returned to the train, he looked most pleased, almost excited.

"Goddess, that was truly epic," he grinned.

"Might that have something to do with the gathering you just participated in?" Rasalas smirked.

"You felt it?"

"I think everyone within a mile of your house felt it, Ryan," said Rasalas, shaking his head. Glancing over and seeing Brady was tied up with more fans wanting his autograph, he said, "You have to be careful, right. Brady felt it."

"Really?"

"He commented on it."

Ryan grinned sheepishly. "We've b-b-been doing this for years, Ras. Ma's a witch longer than I've been a... y'know."

"We'll need to talk about this some more... and next year... if possible, I would love to attend."

"Ma would love to have you—we all w-w-w-would have. You would be more than welcome. B-b-but anyway. You guys can take off... I'm sure Brady's wanting to r-r-relax a bit."

"Nope. We're doing the rides. Brady! Just about done?"

"Just a 'sec."

Before visiting the rides, they went in the house a moment. The temperature was dropping, and the tee shirt was no longer enough. So, Rasalas grabbed his jacket. Brady went for just his vest, but also grabbed a hooded jumper.

Then, they crossed the yard and the road, to where the small midway had been set up. There were about eight rides set up, two of them aimed toward young children, while the rest were larger attractions.

"What first?"

"That one," said Rasalas, pointing to a towering ride. It had two smaller wheels, each having eight seats. Those two wheels spun at the end of a larger boom, which was secured to a pair of tractor trailers. He guessed it to be easily ninety feet high.

"Skywheel. Been a couple years since I done this one."

They quickly joined the queue, with a pair of security moving close to keep an eye on them. Surprisingly, the queue seemed to move rather quickly, and before Rasalas knew it, they were being secured in one of the seats.

"Next time just come to the front," said one of the guys loading the seat, "You're both V.I.P.'s. You don't wait."

Rasalas shrugged, as the lap bar was closed. He opened his mouth to respond, but the wheel began to move—along with the main boom, and quite rapidly, they found themselves at the top. The wheel now at the bottom was then being loaded.

"Bloody hell..."

Brady grinned. "You not scared of heights, are 'ya?"

"No, no, definitely not," Rasalas answered, as the wheel continued to turn, "Just got my by surprise. But damn... this is wicked."

"Still like my bike, though."

"Just don't make love to it," Rasalas smirked.

"Only thing that would make my bike better, is if it could fly."

Rasalas again felt a lump rise in his throat, knowing how easy it would be to give life to his friend's dream. Yet, the statute absolutely forbid it. There was very little wiggle room.

"Ras?"

"Sorry."

"Looked lost there a minute."

"Just... thinking what it would be like to actually do... well, what you just suggested. Somehow I don't think the O.P.P. would like that a whole lot."

Brady let out a chuckle. "It'd be fun though."

"Oh yeah." He thought for a moment, wanting to direct the conversation into safer territory.

"What you said on Friday... about having me come visit you... did you mean that?"

"Yeah, sure. You ever hunt before?"

"I don't know. Nothing I ever remember, I know that."

"How 'bout fishin'?"

"Nope."

"Bonafide city boy."

"Guess so."

"You're still young, there's hope," Brady smirked. "Mom's gonna like you though. 'an if the Sawyers don't teach you to drive, I will."

"Yeah, that would be wicked."

Rasalas was startled again, as the entire ride was put into motion. It was truly epic, feeling the complex motion of the machine. It felt like they were making a complete revolution every fifteen seconds—fast, but not insanely fast. It was almost as good as flying on his Firebolt. His heart again ached at not being able to share such an experience with his new friend.

The ride at last came to a stop, with their wheel at the bottom. And, in short order, the lap bar was opened, and they were back on the ground.

"That one's a do-again, I think," said Rasalas.

"Something else first. That one." Brady pointed to a ride that had eight arms, with two seats attached to each one. It looked almost chaotic with the rhythmic rising and falling motion.

"Probably gonna need a po—something for my stomach after that one."

The Spider, as Rasalas learned it was called, proved to be far more chaotic than he could have imagined. When they finally got off, he collapsed to the ground, heaving, spewing the contents of his stomach. If he had to compare the experience, it was like a badly-programmed—or malfunctioning port key.

Brady helped him to his feet. "You all right?"

"Yeah... God... need some strong mouthwash or something. Yuk." He checked himself over, making sure he'd not gotten any sick-up on himself.

"'ya wanna go back to the house for a minute?"

"Yeah. God, that was... intense. Think I lost all sense of direction a minute in."

Rasalas still felt unsteady on his feet, and was forced to lean on Brady for support as they returned to the house. No doubt, it had to be the most disorienting experience he'd had in the Muggle world—bar the attack on his person back in September.

In the house, Rasalas shut himself in his room for a moment, ensuring privacy, before locating a stomach-calming draught and a headache-reliever. Though both tasted absolutely terrible, they provided almost instant relief from the pounding head and churning stomach he had been suffering from. The Spider had really threw him for a loop. It now occupied the number two spot on his mental list of 'experiences that should not be repeated'. What occupied the top spot, you might be wondering? Being clubbed over the head and beaten to within an inch of his life.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ras. You all right?"

"Yeah. Just needed a few minutes." Rasalas pulled the door open, to find Brady standing in the corridor.

"Feelin' better?"

"Much. Let's go."

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Rasalas gets a rude awakening, thanks to Casey's displeasure at one of her son's birthday gifts; Brady gets a rude awakening of his own under different circumstances; and an unwelcome visitor has Rasalas summoning both his solicitor and the Aurors...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: Apologies for the number of notes here, though most are references to appropriate copyright holders._

_Rather interesting to note that Harry/Rasalas has fallen into the role of teacher, even though he's not a student at Hogwarts. Perhaps, a little later in the time line than canon, but still. Funny how fate works, no?_

_The radio interview was like pulling teeth for some reason. And as far as Crime Stoppers goes, yes, I used the actual number here, as they serve a valuable purpose. For those who do not know, Crime Stoppers is a non-profit agency that operates in most Canadian and American jurisdictions. They help local law enforcement solve crimes through anonymous tips and information._

_Now, before people blast me for referencing music that was released 8 or 9 years after this event took place... it's AU, okay? And I also point out, I'm not using any of their current music (although I wanted to). Additionally, the track "Got a Feeling" should give everyone a very good clue as to who Tim Knight truly is. He will have limited air time again in the future._

_(1) "The Devil Went Down to Georgia", released as a single in 1979, and appears on the album "Million Mile Reflections". Writers: Charlie Daniels, Tom Crain, "Taz" DiGregorio, Fred Edwards, Charles Hayward, and James W. Marshall. Released by Epic Records. (C) 1979, all rights reserved._

_(2) "Got a Feeling", released as a single in 2013 and appears on the album "Throwdown". Writers: Noll Billings, Jeff Coplon, and Tim Hicks. Released by RGK Entertainment Group. (C) 2013, all rights reserved._

_(3) The Havelock Country Jamboree is a 4-day music festival which takes place over the 3__rd__ weekend in August, in Havelock Ontario. Many big-name country stars and legends have played the event, and in 2014, the event celebrated its 25__th__ anniversary._

_(4) "You Don't Know Her Like I Do", released as a single in 2011 and appears on the album "Halfway to Heaven". Writers: Brantley Gilbert and Jim McCormick. Released by Average Joe's and Valory Music Co. (Re-issue). (C) 2011. All rights reserved._


	9. Undesired Circumstances

_Posted November 30, 2014_

_SUMMARY: __Rasalas gets a rude awakening, thanks to Casey's displeasure at one of her son's birthday gifts; Brady gets a rude awakening of his own under different circumstances; and an unwelcome visitor has Rasalas summoning both his solicitor and the Aurors..._

* * *

><p><strong>109. UNDESIRED CIRCUMSTANCES<br>October 31 – November 2, 2005**

"_There are no extraordinary men... just extraordinary circumstances that ordinary men are forced to deal with."_

_- William Halsey_

* * *

><p>it was nearly 10:30 before they at last left the rides. The crowd was thinning out, and it had been a while since any of the trains had been seen doing a circuit—a truck with a heavy trailer had been seen pulling out of the driveway a short while before, so it appeared that the miniature train rides were closed.<p>

Going on a hunch, Rasalas made his way to the back yard, with Brady following. The pair of security guards left them once they crossed into the private yard itself.

His guess was more than accurate, as they found the Sawyers, along with Aaron, gathered around a large bonfire.

"Wondered when you guys would find us," said Phil, indicating a pair of comfortable chairs that had been brought down from the deck.

"I spotted one of the steam guys leaving," said Rasalas, as he took a seat, "I guessed everything was being shut down."

"Mr. Thomas is still running, I think," said Ryan, "B-b-but I think he's gonna shut down soon."

"The Y6B's been put to bed?"

"Y-yeah. We just got here a few minutes ago. Ma was already here."

"Mr. Gibson, Mr. Black, help yourselves to a beer," said Phil, indicating an ice chest in between the chairs.

"Don' mind if I do."

Brady reached in, and fetched two bottles, passing one over to Rasalas.

"Y'all have a real nice spot here."

"It's been our home for a number of generations," said Phil, "My great-great grandparents crossed over at the turn of the century on the _Carpathia_. The house was built in 1904 when the family got their finances in order. Of course, or property used to be a bit bigger, and considering the event we've just hosted, I now regret selling as much as I have."

Rasalas smirked to himself as he took a swig of his beer. Phil's remarks further cemented the little idea forming in his head. Put up a nice little cottage across the road, but buy up the chunk of land altogether, and easily double the space available. There was no mistake, Rasalas had a great time over the weekend; the preparations put into it had been more than worth it.

"Perhaps I might have a word with my attorney," said Rasalas, putting words to his thoughts. "How would you feel about acquiring a friendly neighbour?"

"Unlikely you'll be able to purchase the property," said Phil, "Some developer bought it recently from the guy I sold it to. I wasn't happy to learn about that, I'll tell you that much. I've got my attorney fighting with the municipality, trying to have any sort of major development blocked. Last thing we need is a subdivision being put in across the road—exactly what the developer has in mind."

"I'll talk to Kate in the next couple of days," Rasalas promised.

"Aw shucks, and I thought we'd be gettin' rid of y-y-you," said Ryan, though he then stuck his tongue out.

"If you're really nice, I'll let you expand the miniature rail across the road."

"Municipality won't like it though," said Phil.

"There are ways we can get around it," Rasalas smirked.

Brady, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, and took off his cap. Rasalas smirked again.

"You look better without it."

"Told 'ya before, I feel naked without it."

"God... you know tomorrow's gonna suck, eh?" said Aaron, "We missed over a week of school."

"We'll c-c-catch up," Ryan answered, "And I don't go in until after lunch anyway."

"Lucky you," Aaron scowled.

"Why don't you have a whole day?" Rasalas wondered.

"It's one of the th-th-things about grade twelve. Mondays I have a half day. And Tuesdays are also a half-day, b-b-but the class I have is in the afternoon."

"And you'll be using that time to catch up on the class material you missed, young man," said Casey, leaving no room for arguments.

"Yeah, th-th-that's the plan, Ma."

Rasalas listened as his friends continued to discuss the upcoming week. Getting back into some sort of a routine would be a good thing, he decided. There was still the GATB his occupational therapist was trying to schedule, never mind the review of his magical courses for his O.W.L. exams sometime in May and June. Kate wanted to schedule Apparition lessons... another letter needed to be sent to Sirius. There was a lot on his plate, matters that really needed tending to.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Phil and Casey both stood up.

"Don't be up too late, boys. A pair of you do have school to get ready for," said Casey.

"'night, Ma."

Casey leaned in, and kissed her son on the forehead. "Happy birthday, boy."

Rasalas watched as the pair disappeared into the house.

"Some part of me says I never had that when I was growing up. Whoever raised me weren't that fond of me."

"Blood wouldn' turn their back on each other," said Brady.

"I'm not saying that's what happened. Just... there's been a few things that were nagging thoughts... that I've recently found out to be true, if that makes any sense."

"Okay. Enough crappy thoughts," said Aaron, "Ryan, you gonna share your birthday gift with us or not?"

Ryan smirked, before leaning forward and pulling a bottle out of a rolled up jumper under his chair.

"Uh, th-th-there should be shot glasses in the cooler."

A minute or so later, furniture had been rearranged so they sat a little closer, and four shot glasses were filled with the amber liquid.

"So, uh... this w-w-was an awesome weekend, and today was, as Ras likes to say so much, wicked. So... yeah... uh, ch-cheers, guys."

* * *

><p>The following morning, Rasalas awoke to Casey's raised voice outside the door.<p>

"How could you be so foolishly irresponsible, Phillip!"

"It was his birthday!" Phil was shouting back.

Rasalas groaned, hearing every word as though they were bouncing off the walls. His head felt about six times too big. He located his wand, pointed it at the door, and cast a silencing spell. The sound diminished, and he rolled over onto his back. God... needed a headache-reliever... stomach-calming draught... wow. Way too much alcohol, he realized. He'd made the mistake of trying to keep up with Brady.

He grinned at the memory. Brady turned out to be a happy drunk, more or less the life of the party. Given his profession, it just fit, Rasalas guessed. He'd ended up singing, with Aaron joining in, and Rasalas again grinned at the memory. It was goofy, but really cool too.

He lay there a few minutes, before dispelling the silencing charm, and sitting up. Yup, definitely need a couple of potions to get rid of the awful hangover. The whiskey packed a powerful punch, as he now knew.

It was a rather quiet breakfast table that greeted him. Casey cast him a disapproving look, but passed him a plate already loaded with food.

"Thank you."

"I see you're perhaps a little more responsible than—"

"N-uh-uh," said Rasalas, "I have personal remedy."

Casey pursed her lips.

"Lucky for you. These gentlemen must suffer the consequences. Old enough or not—" she again pursed her lips at Aaron, "—putting yourselves into a stupor... good grief."

Brady scowled, but said nothing, choosing to focus on his breakfast. It would likely only make her yell, and considering he'd been woken by it...

"So... uh... well... it was a good weekend," said Rasalas, softly, "We really need to do this again."

"Not sure if we'll do Halloween again, though... this was an incredible draw. Still don't have the gate total yet, but probably in a couple of days," said Phil, also keeping his voice low. He knew too well what his son and his friends felt like.

"I think we should," said Ryan, "I liked us r-r-r-running in the dark, it was really cool."

"'an though I said it before, I'd love to come back," Brady more whispered than spoke. "God... won't be doin' any singin' for a while."

Casey again pursed her lips. "You boys kept us up until three this morning with your boisterous behaviour."

Rasalas grinned. "When I build my house across the road, we'll have our parties there and not keep you up all hours of the night."

"Rasalas Black!"

"What?" Rasalas smiled sweetly.

"Not so loud," Aaron moaned, holding his head. He glanced up at the clock. "Crap. I gotta go. Gonna be real fun sitting in class today."

"And whose fault is that?"

Aaron got up, and gave his friend a squeeze on the shoulder. "See you at lunch time."

Rasalas only grinned at the interaction, as the young man left. Somehow, he had a suspicion Ryan and Aaron's relationship was a little more than 'best friends'. In fact, he'd bet a bag full of galleons on it.

Casey began to clear the table, and that was the signal for Phil to get up.

"Ryan, since you're free this morning, I need a hand with something."

"Yeah, ssss-sure, Da."

They quickly left the room, and with Casey flitting in and out, carrying dishes to the kitchen, left only Brady and Rasalas.

"I'm gonna miss you loads."

"I'd say come with me now, but... shit's gotta get taken care of. Two weeks, an' things'll be good."

"Still. Ryan's got Aaron... and this past month's been... unreal. It feels like, we've known each other a lot longer. Maybe in a past life or something."

Brady let out a snort. "No such thing."

"When you leaving?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Still some stuff needin' to be packed."

"Your girlfriend."

That got a brief smirk out of Brady. "She's last."

Rasalas let out a sigh. "So tonight's your last night."

"You got my cell number. 'an seriously. You got your own shit to straighten out."

"Yeah, this is true."

Brady slowly stood up, and carried his dishes into the kitchen, leaving Rasalas alone to his own thoughts. If Rasalas had to admit, he'd grown attached to the guy. How'd that happen?

He shook his head. Focus. There was a lot to do, namely getting Ryan a wand, scheduling a GATB, line up possible tutors... no, he didn't have time for... well, whatever it was between him and Brady.

The rest of the morning, Rasalas was once again holed up in his room, studying a second-year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. Kate had passed along the second-year syllabus from _Upper Canada Academy for Wizarding Studies_, after explaining the farce of a teacher Rasalas would have had during his second year at _Hogwarts_.

Immediately following lunch, Rasalas met with Ashley, who informed him he was scheduled to sit the GATB the following Monday. She then asked about whether he'd thought of how he wanted to proceed with schooling, to which he'd answered, "I want to wait until the GATB results come back before making a decision."

With the meeting over, he again retreated to his room with the intention of continuing his review. He passed by Brady's room, and caught a glimpse of him packing. The guy had partially moved in, pulling a number of things from the bus. Rasalas had certainly seen the inside of Brady's tour bus, and really, it seemed like he had more room there than in the small bedroom the Sawyers had offered. All the bedrooms in the house were in need of an expansion charm.

He let out a sigh, stepping into his room, once again trying to push thoughts of his friend aside. 'Get with it,' he snarled in his head, 'It's two weeks, I can make it just fine.' He sat down heavily, and pulled out his first year Charms text book. Focus. Review.

Unfortunately, only minutes later, he could hear Brady talking on his mobile, sounding more agitated by the second. Bad news, perhaps? Things fell silent a minute after, and so Rasalas put his mind back on his text book. The review would be good, since it was likely he'd be teaching Ryan the material being covered. And they still needed to go out for a wand. It would likely have to be on a Monday afternoon, or a Tuesday morning, since he wasn't in school during those times.

Sometime later, Rasalas could hear Brady once again talking on his mobile. Only a minute later, there was a loud _bang_, and steps were heard in the corridor. Rasalas got up just as there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Brady entered, red-faced and looking angry.

"Looks like I might be stickin' around for a while."

"What happened?"

"Bullshit with I.N.S. and Border Protection Services, they ain't lettin' me back in the country."

"Oh. I... I'm sorry."

"What's to be sorry for? Ain't your fault. Know where Mr. Sawyer is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Rasalas answered, as he stuffed his text book in a larger satchel he'd obtained.

"Gotta go talk to some people. Uh... might need a hand with some shit, 'ya mind?"

"No, of course not." So much for the review.

* * *

><p>Brady's sour mood persisted into the following afternoon, as both the tour bus and the tractor trailer left the property, on their way back to Georgia. He'd grabbed a few things from the bus, among them his guitar and journals that contained notes and ideas.<p>

Phil and Casey had immediately permitted him to stay as long as he needed to, so that problem had been solved, but another loomed come the end of November: Brady's visitor visa would expire. Now Rasalas felt even worse, considering he'd been the reason Brady had travelled back to Canada in the first place. Perhaps he might mention the situation to Kate, see if she might have any advice. But for now.

"Where's your bike?"

"I... yeah, a ride's a good idea," Brady agreed.

They were gone for the remainder of the afternoon, having once again gone up to Peterborough and Bobcaygeon, this time sticking to the many narrow back roads. Rasalas discovered his friend drove even faster when agitated, though that relaxed somewhat as they were on their way back to the Sawyers.

It was just after sunset when they stopped in Bowmanville, low on petrol. Brady once again obliged a couple of people with a picture, before going into the store to pay. He come back out, cursing and swearing under his breath.

"You got any cash on 'ya?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"None of my cards work."

Rasalas furrowed his brow, but glanced up at the total on the pump, before pulling out a few bills from his pouch. While his friend went in once again to pay, Rasalas frowned. Something weird was going on. Barred from returning to the U.S., and now his credit cards don't work? Definitely time to talk to Kate.

It was nearly dark before they pulled into the Sawyers' driveway. Rasalas could tell Brady was just as pissed as he'd been when they left a few hours prior. The incident with his credit cards completely negated the entire purpose of going out in the first place.

"Thanks for bailin' me out back there," he said, as he stowed the helmets in the side compartment and locked it.

"You've been a wicked good friend to me, it's only right I get to return the favour," Rasalas answered.

"I don' like charity."

"It's not charity. I know if the tables were reversed, you would do the same thing for me, right?"

Brady could only nod, as he replaced his cap, and they started walking toward the house. He let out a sigh.

"Guess you got your wish, me stickin' around."

"But you wanted to go home. I'd never stand in the way of that. I... I'm gonna mention this to my solicitor. She has ways of... figuring things out. I mean, it's rather suspicious, that... not only are you barred from returning to your own country, but... now your bank cards aren't working."

Brady could only give a nod, as they stepped onto the porch. They were about to go in the house, but voices from around back had them head in that direction instead.

"Hope they got beer," he muttered.

"I'll keep you company," Rasalas promised, "Not that I'll keep up with you. God, that was a painful wake-up call yesterday. Mrs. Sawyer knows how to yell, I know that much."

"She yelled at'cha?"

"No, no, I heard her yelling at her husband. Walls are way too thin," Rasalas answered.

They rounded the corner to find everyone was gathered on the back deck. An ice chest was again present, this time being placed under the table. A fire was crackling merrily in the chiminea—a small cast-iron outdoor fireplace that was stood in one corner.

"Mr. Black, Mr. Gibson," said Casey, indicating a pair of vacant chairs.

"We went for a ride," said Rasalas, sitting down and snatching two beer from the ice chest, and passing one to his friend.

"We figured that much," said Phil, "I heard you two leave."

"There's a few messages for you, I put them on the dresser in your room," said Casey.

"Thank you," said Brady, "Not wantin' to think about that shit right now."

Casey glared at her visitor, while Ryan could tell he wasn't in a good place. "What happened?"

"Tryin' to get gas comin' back here an' I find out my cards don' work."

"As I said, I'll talk to Kate. Something really weird going on."

Ryan smirked, then said, "Thought y-y-you wanted him to stay."

Rasalas scowled. "Not against his will. It's not fair to him, right. He had his own plans for the next little while, never mind my own. This is rubbish!"

Brady could only give a weak smile at the outburst from his younger friend. He blew out a breath. "Got a month or so to figure shit out. Not dealin' with this right now."

"Did the pair of you eat already?" Casey asked, though she once again gave Brady a disapproving look.

"We stopped at a Wendy's a couple of hours ago."

"Good choice. Better than McVomit," said Aaron.

Rasalas looked at him funny. "Mc... what?"

"What he calls McDonald's," said Ryan. That earned a snicker out of Brady.

Aaron made a disgusted face. "You don't wanna know what they really use for hamburger. Their food's nasty, and expensive."

"Okay then. Uh... I'll keep that in mind," said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

"Trust me. Their food is crap."

It was then there came a brilliant flash about ten feet away from the deck's steps, and from that, came a flash of golden-yellow flames that lit up the entire yard. Everyone was momentarily blinded, but when all could see again, the flames were gone, replaced by a man.

If Brady had to guess, the man had to be well over a hundred years old—he looked absolutely ancient. He had long silver hair and a beard to match, which was oddly tucked into the belt of his robes. The robes themselves, had to be the most outlandish piece of clothing possible, purple, covered with images of the moon and stars. Were they... moving?

If the man were a sight, the magnificent bird that now rested on the man's shoulder was something else. It somewhat resembled a swan, crimson-coloured, with long tail plumage. The musical call it let out was all but magical, as it lifted off, to land on a vacant chair on the deck. Brady momentarily followed its flight path, before his eyes fell back on the very strange man that had landed somehow in the yard.

Rasalas, meanwhile, had already gotten to his feet, seeming to know exactly who their unexpected visitor was.

"What are you doing here, Dumbledore?" he all but demanded.

"You have been a most difficult young man to locate, Harry," said the man, "There are a great number of people who have been most concerned about your whereabouts."

Rasalas let out a snort. "Oh. You mean your 'Order of the Roasted Turkey' and the misfits blind to your bullshit. And your feeble attempts to rob me of my estate. Or your attempts to blackmail my godfather into granting you access to the Black estate."

"Harry, I understand things have been difficult for you—"

"The English ministry tried to _assassinate_ me, Dumbledore! Let's call it exactly what it was, rather than sugar-coating it. When that failed, they tried and convicted me in that farce of a trial! They discarded me like a useless piece of rubbish, rather than acknowledge the truth! No, all of you can go to hell."

"Harry—"

"It's Mr. Black to you, Dumbledore, we're no longer on friendly terms," Rasalas hissed.

"Harry—"

"Tell me, do you have a problem with your hearing? Or is your memory that short, that I have to repeat myself a third time, professor?" Rasalas spat.

Now, Brady stood up, joining his friend.

"I think 'ya need to go."

Ryan, his parents, and Aaron also stood up.

"You're upsetting our guests," said Phil, "Please leave."

"As much as I would like to adhere to your wishes, there are urgent matters I must discuss with young Harry here."

Rasalas reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Definitely gone 'round the twist. I have nothing to say to you. It's thanks to your meddling that I find myself in the situation I'm now in."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not getting into it. I can say that my life here's a hell of a lot better than my past life. Perhaps it's a good thing I'm only seeing it third-party... having to actually live the life I had... I think I likely would have offed myself first chance I had.

"You all wanted a martyr and a hero one minute, then called me a liar and a nutcase the next. So no. You can all fuck off," Rasalas snarled, "Harry Potter died at the beginning of September. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure he _STAYS_ dead. You got that?"

Dumbledore was alarmed. The young man standing fifteen feet away was nothing like the young wizard he'd last seen in courtroom ten of the English ministry of magic. If anything, he looked like a young Sirius Black. No hair, and... he looked identical to the Muggle standing beside him. "Harry—"

"Are you truly deaf?!" Rasalas snarled.

Dumbledore produced his wand, but held it to the side.

"You're going dark, Harry."

Now, Rasalas was forced to answer, producing his own.

"How is it you came to possess a wand?"

"I don't remember where I got it. But Mr. Sawyer's asked you to leave. So leave. I've got nothing else to say to you."

"Harry, I—" Dumbledore made to raise his wand, but was forced to divert his attention as Brady hurled the now empty beer bottle he was holding. It narrowly missed Dumbledore's head by inches.

"_EXPELLIARMUS_!" Rasalas snarled, sending Dumbledore's wand flying off into the grass to his left. The man himself went flying backwards.

"_Accio_ wand!"

The captured wand zipped into Rasalas' outstretched hand, while Dumbledore tried to sit up.

"_Stupefy_." The ancient wizard's world went dark.

"What... what are you?" Brady asked, softly. Rasalas could see the man was actually shaking from what he'd just witnessed.

"I... I'm a wizard. You weren't ever supposed to know. I'm truly sorry. We... I... can someone fetch me a telephone? Need the Aurors here right away."

"Aurors?" Brady sank back into the chair he'd been sitting in, but pulled out his mobile.

Rasalas took it, and quickly punched in the number Kate had given him.

"_Kate Lewis,_" came the attorney's voice.

"Kate, it's Rasalas. We have an emergency here at the Sawyers. I need Aurors here right away."

"_Slow down. What happened?_"

"Dumbledore showed up unannounced."

"_All right. I'll fire-call the ministry and we should be there in a couple of minutes. Is there anything else you need?_"

"No. Just bring the Aurors. We're in the back yard."

"_I'm guessing you have him bound?_"

"Stunned. But we'll bind him as well."

"_Sit tight. We'll be there soon as we can._" There was a click.

Rasalas passed the mobile back to Brady, then pointed his wand at the stunned intruder. "_Incarcerous_!"

Brady was surprised as thick ropes flew out of Rasalas' wand, to bind the intruder tightly.

"They'll bounce his ass all the way to England," said Aaron, "I mean, if the magical government is anything like the... well... the Muggle one."

"I think so."

The crimson bird let out a musical call that Rasalas could almost swear sounded like a laugh.

"You... he knows who you were," said Brady, as he reached into the chest and snatched another beer.

"Yeah, definitely. All that I've read about him, the stuff my solicitor's shared with me... he just wants to control me. Nothing more."

Rasalas again pointed his wand at the incapacitated and bound captive. "_Accio_ Dumbledore."

It was as though a hook had snatched him up, and pulled him toward Rasalas' outstretched hand. Rather than catching him, he simply let the captive drop at his feet.

"Rasalas..." Casey admonished him.

"I'm not in the mood to be charitable. If I could have, I would have let his head bounce on the ground a few times; would've served him right."

"Not all that constructive."

"He's lucky I wasn't carryin'," Brady muttered, "Would've jus' shot his ass."

"And wind up in jail," said Phil, "You not being the owner here, and even if you were, the police would still arrest you."

"Seriously?"

"Just drop it. Glad he did what he did," said Rasalas, "No way I would've been able to stand up to him in a one-on-one fight."

It was then there came a blur of limbs a little ways from the deck. Rasalas again raised his wand, but put it away, realizing they were friendly.

"Rasalas? Are you all right?" Kate questioned, hurrying over. Four Aurors had joined her.

"Yeah, I'm fine now."

"Anyone hurt?" questioned one of the Aurors.

"Uh... no, sir. We... we were able to stun him before things got too far," Rasalas answered.

One of the Aurors stepped forward. He was average size, with a narrow face and dark skin.

"I'm Stephen Jackson, Lead Auror. What happened?"

"The... the bird resting over there," Rasalas pointed to the crimson-coloured bird which was still preening itself on the back of one of the chairs, "—brought this man—" Rasalas then pointed to the bound and stunned Dumbledore, "—with a flash of flames. I don't remember seeing someone be transported that way, but... he then demanded to talk to me.

"When we all asked him to leave, he produced his wand. At that point I was forced to do the same. Brady—I mean, Mr. Gibson here, distracted him by throwing a beer bottle, and I was able to stun him and call my solicitor."

"We'll need to draw pensieve memories to go with your statement, but it sounds rather cut and dry to me. Mr. Gibson, did you actually strike Mr. Dumbledore with the beer bottle?"

"Uh... no, sir."

"Good, good. Less complication," said Jackson.

Now, the other three Aurors were banishing the ropes Dumbledore was secured with, and they then revived him.

"Professor Dumbledore. Welcome to Canada. Care to explain why you decided to circumvent normal channels and violate international procedures?"

"I am exercising my credentials as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. I am here to collect a wayward charge."

"*cough* me *cough*" said Rasalas, scowling.

"And who might that be?" questioned ;the second Auror.

"Harry Potter."

"And you believe he's here?"

Dumbledore pointed a finger at Rasalas. "He's been hiding under an alias since fleeing Britain at the beginning of August."

"I see. And so, rather than speak with our Department of International Cooperation, you took it upon yourself to enter Canada illegally."

"This is a rather simple matter—"

"Our minister would beg to differ," said Jackson, coldly, "Whether or not this may or may not be your missing boy-who-lived is beside the point. You ignored international laws, professor. Please stand."

"Gentlemen, as a member of the International Confederation of Wizards, I hold diplomatic immunity," said Dumbledore, in an almost smug tone.

"And those titles are all held in suspension," said Kate, "Including your claim of Diplomatic Immunity."

"Please stand," said Jackson, "Don't make us carry you. I'm sure such photographs would be the least you would wish to see in the media, considering your less-than-stellar reputation as of late."

Dumbledore let out a sigh, and stood up.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You are being placed under arrest for entering Canada illegally, performing magic in front of non-magical individuals, and attempted assault of a wizard. You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay. You have the right to remain silent. If you surrender those rights, anything said may be used as evidence in the proceeding against you. Do you understand those rights?"

"Harry—"

"Shut up. So tired of your bullshit, old man," Rasalas hissed, as magic-suppressing bracelets were snapped onto the headmaster's wrists.

The Aurors were also searching the man's robes, with one of them pulling out another wand.

"Wait. I... my wand," said Rasalas, "That used to be mine."

The Auror held it out, and Rasalas picked it up, giving it a wave. A shower of red sparks bloomed from the end of it.

"Harry—"

"Use that name again and I'll bust your nose a third time, old man," Rasalas hissed, dangerously, "I've forgotten my old life, and I don't need you reminding me of it."

"It's your destiny."

"Shove this 'destiny' you speak of up your arse."

While the Aurors continued to search his person, Rasalas then asked, "How is it you decided to show up here in the first place?"

"Through a letter I obtained from Sirius Black," Dumbledore answered.

Rasalas glared at him. "Nice. So you infringed on my godfather's privacy in order to learn of my location. So the question is, did you take it from him before or after he opened it? Which crime do you want to admit to? The legal one, or the moral one?"

"Mr. Black, I was only concerned."

"Uh huh. Did you open the letter yourself, or wait until my godfather opened it?" Rasalas questioned again.

"The letter could have been a port key."

"And by that, we can also charge you with tampering with an individual's owl post," said Jackson. Rasalas grinned evilly.

"And it will be argued that you have no jurisdiction," said Dumbledore.

"In a court which handles civil matters, on the other hand, my client can most certainly seek damages," said Kate, "Kate Lewis, speaking for Mr. Black here."

"With regard to Sirius Black, it appears you have knowledge of his location," said Jackson.

"Perhaps."

"A most curious matter surrounding Mr. Black," said Kate, "There is no record of any sort of trial for the accused. Tell me, Professor, why is it that, considering your considerable clout before the English Wizengamot, you failed to enforce due process?"

Brady arched an eyebrow. "Y'mean, someone's been thrown in prison 'an no trial?"

"It's exactly what they did," said Rasalas, "I don't remember all that happened, but Sirius has told me most of it."

Jackson seemed to think on the matter a moment. "Get him out of here. Put him in lock-up for the interim, we'll allow him his fire-call once matters here are completed."

"Sir," said the two Aurors flanking the old man. One twisted on the spot, and the three of them vanished with a _pop_.

Rasalas, meanwhile, thought for a moment, before tossing the wand he'd been using recently to Ryan. "Here. Use that until we can get you matched up with one at O'Toole's."

"Th-thanks, man."

Jackson arched an eyebrow. "You're magical."

Both of Ryan's parents, meanwhile, stared at him, startled with this piece of information. Since when?!

"F-f-found out last week," Ryan answered.

Jackson thought for a moment. "Well... that does change a few things. I assume, the pair of you are the property owners?"

"Phillip Sawyer," said Phil, stepping forward, "This is my wife, Casey, my son, Ryan, and his friend Aaron."

"Rasalas Black, and this is Brady Gibson," Rasalas introduced.

"Ah, of course. The National Wizard's Standard ran an article about the show out this way on Tuesday. How long have you been a guest with the Sawyers, Mr. Gibson?"

"Uh... beginning of October."

Jackson sighed. "All right. Normally, our next order of procedure is to bring in someone from the Obliviator's Office, but... that's out of the question, as we would likely do more harm than not."

"Quite all right, Auror Jackson," said Kate, "I'll be sure to explain a few things to Mr. Gibson here, and make sure he understands the importance of secrecy. I will also expect to see subpoenas within seventy-two hours."

"Which is our next piece of business. You understand, Mr. Gibson, you will likely be called on to give testimony regarding what's happened here."

"Yeah, kind of figured as much. Whatever he wanted, he was gon' hurt Ras. I'm not gon' stand by an' let that happen." He blew out a breath. "This though... magic's real."

"Very much so," said Kate, "I know it's probably a massive shock to you, and trust me. Your reaction's rather calm, compared to some."

"I... God, this is unreal."

"Bear with us a little longer, we still have plenty of business," said Jackson. "What happened to his wand?"

"Disarmed him," said Rasalas, showing the captured wand.

"It's yours now," said Kate, "It won't work for him again."

"Yeah, kind of figured that. Nice to have my old wand back though."

"Can 'ya use both together?" Brady wondered.

"Use more than one wand at the same time? Not impossible, but... I'm used to casting with my right hand," Rasalas answered, as he produced his holly wand. "Maybe it's something I can work on."

"Given statements made by the assailant, my client is also seeking political asylum here in Canada," said Kate.

"Which will likely be granted, considering our review of the trial transcripts from August," said Jackson, "It was abuse of power, cut and dry. No legal counsel present, no pensieve testimony allowed, the dismissal of witness testimony simply because she happened to be a squib. I'll have to speak to crown counsel on the matter. That will also carry to your godfather."

"How quickly could a magistrate be located at this hour?" Kate questioned.

"An hour, maybe, given who your clients are. The government's been wanting to take a swipe at the English ministry's poor excuse for a justice system."

"Rasalas, how quickly can you get word to your godfather?"

"I... it might take—"

He was startled, as the phoenix lifted off, to settle on his shoulder, and nip him on the ear.

"Hey, what—ow! Ruddy bird drew—"

It was then a glowing golden cage seemed to blink into existence around wizard and bird, if only for a moment.

Jackson had to clear his throat several times, also surprised by the event. "Well... I'd say, Mr. Black, you now have yourself a very unusual familiar. Witches and wizards with phoenix familiars are very rare."

The phoenix let out another magical call as if in agreement.

"You know where Sirius is," Rasalas guessed, to which the bird let out another trill.

"Well. That makes it simple. Can someone fetch me something to write a note with?"

"Got it."

Aaron disappeared into the house a moment, coming back with a pad of paper and a pen. Rasalas quickly scribbled out a note, before rolling it up. The phoenix seemed to know what was needed, as it hopped onto the table, and held out a claw.

"To Sirius Black, if you please. Bring him here if he wants."

The bird snatched the note, and vanished in another flash of golden flames.

"All right. I have to return to the ministry for a moment. Mr. Sawyer, if it's permissible, we'll conduct the interview here."

Rasalas was confused. "Isn't it supposed to be a hearing?"

"It is. Doing it this way, we avoid either of you being in the ministry, as there are a few who might act inappropriately," Jackson explained.

"Oh. By all means, then," said Phil, "The dining room should be adequate."

Jackson gave a nod, before Disapparating with a soft _pop_.

It was only a moment later, before there came another flash of golden flames, as the phoenix returned, bringing Sirius.

"Rasalas."

"Sirius!"

The pair quickly met up, and briefly hugged.

"You're well? Did he harm you?"

"No. Didn't have a chance. C'mon, I'll introduce you to a few people... this is Phil and Casey Sawyer... their son Ryan, his friend Aaron, and Brady... and my solicitor, Kate."

"Kate Lewis, Mr. Black. It's about time I met you."

"The pleasure is all mine," said Sirius. "What happened to Albus?"

"He's been taken to a holding cell at the ministry. He'll be allowed a fire-call and assigned a solicitor if he doesn't have one," Kate answered, "As to you, Mr. Black, I do need to have a word with you so we can properly present your story to the magistrate."

"Come with me, I'll show you into the living room," Casey offered, "My goodness, might need to put on a pot of tea."

She led Kate and Sirius into the house, with Phil following. Rasalas sat down heavily in his seat, and blew out a breath.

"Charlie-foxtrot," said Aaron.

Rasalas furrowed his brows. "A what?"

"Cluster-fuck."

Brady's lips twitched, but he resisted the urge to laugh. This was not funny in the least. The magic thing was throwing him for a loop, but... the way the man had just... appeared out of thin air. It was quite likely the old man had planned to grab Rasalas and vanish the same way he'd come. Was it really that easy for... stuff to happen?

"He was gon' kidnap 'ya, right?" he finally asked.

"More than likely, yeah. Thanks for... doing what you did."

"No different than some dumb shit bustin' into someone's house. Pull that shit in my house an' see what happens."

He blew out a breath, then took a swig of his beer. "Still can't believe all this."

"I know you're probably thinking I'm some sort of monster now. And the sad thing is, as I'm learning, there are some true monsters in the magical world. Just remember. I'm the same person you knew an hour ago."

"I... I know. How... when did 'ya know what... what you were?"

"I don't know," Rasalas answered, "It was likely just before I turned eleven. That's when a magical person gets invited to school."

"W-w-wait. Why wasn't I told?" Ryan asked. Both he and Aaron had reclaimed their seats from earlier.

"If I had to guess... you were electrocuted when you were six, right?" At Ryan's slow nod, Rasalas said, "Well... I think your magic protected you from dying. But it also all but burned it out. So it took this long... over ten years, for it to get strong enough."

"Well, you do read peoples' thoughts sometimes," said Aaron, "You annoy your mom with it."

"Legilimency," said Rasalas, "Both Sirius and Kate have talked about it. It's a type of mind magic. How long have you been doing it?"

"It's gotten ssss-stronger over the past few years."

"You can read peoples' minds. Seriously?" Brady questioned.

"Sometimes. And most of the t-t-t-time, it's only bits and pieces. But usually enough th-that I can figure out what they're thinking."

"God, I cringe at the sort of thing you've seen in my head, Ryan," said Rasalas.

"Your head's a m-m-mess, Ras. I think it's like... getting a whole bunch of sssss-scrambled messages all at once. You give me a headache." He thought for a moment.

"There was this one m-m-memory. You had this thing, it l-l-looked like a gold coloured egg. You opened it... and it sounded like... someone dragging their nails down a chalk board."

Rasalas seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah. I can sort of see it. It was the reward from some sort of competition I won. Everyone was gathered around me. But when I opened it... Ryan's description fits. God oh God, what a horrible noise. Think of... microphone feedback?" At Brady's nod, Rasalas said, "Multiply that by ten."

Brady looked doubtful. "Don' sound like much of a reward."

"As you'll quickly learn, there are a great many things in the magical world that tend not to make a whole lot of sense. That's coming from someone who's supposed to be living in it."

"I'll try 'an keep that in mind."

"Something else you'll need to know. Since everyone here knows the secret now, expect to see a lot of spell work. I'm reviewing for important exams at the end of the school year, and Ryan has an entire seven years of magical courses ahead of him."

Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Seven?"

"We go to school for seven years. Had you been told when you were eleven... you would've sat for your N.E.W.T.'s already."

"Newt? What's a n-newt?"

"Final exams at the end of your seventh year. I'll have to take them in two and a half years."

"So you stop goin' to school in this world," Brady guessed.

"Mostly, yeah. But... I don't know what happens after... God, so much I don't know. Just... I'll try to get answers to the stuff I don't know. Sirius will be able to help... and Kate—she's been brilliant getting information about my past life."

"Rasalas." Brady reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "I ain't goin' anywhere. This is jus' throwin' me, y'know."

"Oh. Well... thanks. Part of me was terrified how you'd react," Rasalas admitted.

"What gave 'ya that idea?"

"Not everyone reacts well," Rasalas answered. He then grinned madly. "Thing being... now that you know about my world... I can show you _my_ bad toy."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Rasalas."

"What? He's taken me out on his bike twice now. Only fair I get to take him for a ride on my broom."

Brady arched an eyebrow. "Broom?" Then it dawned on him, and he burst out laughing. "Question..." he finally managed, "D'ya cackle an' the whole bit?"

Now it was Rasalas' turn to crack up.

"Wait. You're serious."

"No, Sirius is in the house," Rasalas smirked. Brady responded by dumping the remainder of his beer on Rasalas' head.

"Okay then." And Rasalas returned the favour.

"Fucker."

"Wanker."

"Shall we leave you two alone?" Aaron quipped, "I mean, you two seem to be having more than enough fun on your own."

"Th-though... maybe they should just get a room."

"Fuck off," Brady scowled, pulling off his cap and shaking it, purposely sending spray at the speaker.

Rasalas, meanwhile, pulled out the wand he'd just captured, and pointed it at himself. "_Evanesco_." The sticky mess instantly vanished.

"The mess we got into a while back after runnin' the train... that would've been useful," said Brady.

"But you weren't supposed to know. That's why I couldn't," Rasalas answered, pointing his wand at Brady. "_Evanesco_."

"Thank you."

"I'll show you guys some offensive and defensive magic down the road, but for the next little while... there's lots of useful stuff I can show. Ryan's mum will like some of the stuff I can do."

Rasalas sat back in his chair, and blew out a breath, feeling a little better about the situation. Brady could have took it very badly. Kate had sent him a few statistics about Muggle reactions to blatant displays of magic. He gave silent thanks to whatever deity happened to be watching over him for the positive outcome.

It was then there came a blur of appendages in the yard again. Auror Jackson had returned with two ministry officials. Time for Sirius to get his freedom...

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Both Rasalas and his godfather have their say before the law, thanks to the Canadian ministry; Kate begins to look into Brady's records; the Sawyers learn they're getting a new, friendly neighbour; and Dumbledore discovers his influence has no meaning, while being detained at the pleasure of the Canadian ministry.<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: Another lengthy chapter, where Dumbledore decides to stick his overly large nose where it doesn't belong, and in doing so, unleashing lots of chaos._

_So now here's the question: who's messing with Brady's citizenship records and his bank information?_


	10. Due Process

_Posted Dec 2, 2014._

_SUMMARY: __Both Rasalas and his godfather have their say before the law, thanks to the Canadian ministry; Kate begins to look into Brady's records; the Sawyers learn they're getting a new, friendly neighbour; and Dumbledore discovers his influence has no meaning, while being detained at the pleasure of the Canadian ministry._

* * *

><p><strong>110. DUE PROCESS<br>November 2 – 3, 2005**

"_Indictments of any kind are serious. That being said, let's not forget that an indictment is not a conviction. We still have due process in this country."_

_- Rob Simmons_

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, everyone was crowded into the dining room.<p>

"This is Patricia Hoyt, and her court scribe, Lenny White," Auror Jackson introduced them. Lenny was already pulling a number of things out of the large portfolio slung over his shoulder, including a covered clay bowl. Several pages of parchment were set up, along with quills.

"Those not participating, I ask you please remain from speaking while we are on the record. If you feel you cannot do so, then please leave the room," said Patricia, firmly.

"It's for accuracy," Lenny explained, "When we go on record, everything that is said will be recorded."

"One word out of anyone not participating, and I'll cast a silencing charm on them," said Rasalas, "We've got two issues I'd like to see resolved here and now."

"If we're ready then. Mr. and Mr. Black, if you will both take your seats," said Patricia, indicating seats across from her.

Both Rasalas and Sirius sat down.

"Begin recording," said Lenny. The quills that had been up to this point laying dormant on the parchment suddenly lifted up, poised to begin writing.

"This hearing being held this second of November, in the matter of Black and the English ministry for magic," Patricia began, "Madam justice Patricia Hoyt, with court scribe Leonard White, and lead Auror Stephen Jackson. The defendant, Sirius Orion Black, answering to charges; one count of participating in a terrorist organization, one count of conspiracy to commit murder, and thirteen counts of murder."

"Kate Lewis, solicitor for the accused," Kate spoke up, "My client has agreed to give testimony in his own defence while under Veritaserum. Pensieve testimony will also be drawn as supporting evidence to his innocence."

"So noted. Court scribe. If you will administer the Veritaserum."

"Yes ma'am."

Lenny stood up, and produced a vial containing a clear substance, and circled the table. Sirius opened his mouth, and Lenny allowed three drops of the liquid to fall on his tongue. He then recapped the vial, and glanced at his watch. "We'll need a few minutes for it to take effect."

Sirius gave a nod, and closed his eyes. He was minutes away from freedom. There would be a few questions, he'd give a few memories, and that was it. No more hiding from the Aurors, or worse... being a prisoner in his own home.

Brady, meanwhile, looked on with dozens of questions running through his head. This was a trial? Didn't they have to hold these kind of proceedings in an actual court? Where was the prosecution?

"For the record, please state your name," said Auror Jackson.

"Sirius Orion Black."

"And your current place of residence?"

"At a location that cannot be revealed as it's hidden by a Fidelius Charm," he answered, his voice flat and monotone.

"At any time, did you in any way aid or partake in activities set in motion by a terrorist organization in Britain known as the Death Eaters?"

"No, I did not."

"Shortly after Lily and James Potter gave birth to their son, they went into hiding to protect him. Were you a part of those plans?"

"Yes, I was."

"And a later plan involved the casting of the Fidelius Charm on their residence. Is this true?"

"Yes."

Auror Jackson glanced at a set of notes at his place at the table.

"Were you part of additional precautions put in place alongside the Fidelius Charm?"

"Yes."

"By operating as a decoy."

"Yes."

"And that was because you agreed as a group, that you were the obvious choice for secret-keeper. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Who actually became the secret-keeper for the Fidelius Charm cast on the Potters' residence?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"A former friend, a member of your close-knit group while you were students at Hogwarts. Is that true?"

"Yes."

Auror Jackson glanced at his notes again.

"Turning now to the night Mr. and Mrs. Potter were murdered. When did you attend the residence?"

"Late. The exact time, I don't remember."

"What did you find when you got there?"

"The door was blown open. James... he was felled in the hallway. I found Lily upstairs, in the nursery."

"And Harry still alive in his crib."

"Yes."

"Harry being, Harry James Potter, James and Lily's son."

"Yes."

"What did you do next?"

"I meant to take Harry from the house... being his godfather. It's what Lily and James agreed on. That I would keep him safe if the worst would happen."

"What prevented this from happening?"

"I found Hagrid at the door," Sirius answered.

"The current groundskeeper and professor of Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"What was he doing there?"

"He had come to collect Harry."

"Why?"

"He said it was on Dumbledore's orders."

"What was he instructed to do with Harry once he was collected?"

"He was to meet Dumbledore. He was forbidden from telling me."

"What did you do after?"

"I told Hagrid to use my bike. It was parked in the back of the house."

"And after?"

"I went to look for Peter."

"Believing he had betrayed you."

"Yes."

"Take us to when you finally caught up to him. Did the pair of you exchange words?"

"Yes."

"What did he say to you?"

"He accused me of being a traitor, and nailed me with a powerful cheering charm."

"What happened next?"

"He cast a strong blasting curse at a gas meter on one of the buildings nearby."

"And you were in too much of a euphoric state to give any sort of pursuit."

"Yes."

"The state in which the British Aurors found you in, is that true?"

"Yes."

"Were you offered any sort of legal representation before you were taken into custody?" Patricia questioned.

"No."

"Was any sort of trial or hearing conducted with regard to this event, excluding this hearing?"

"No."

"Auror Jackson, any further questions?"

"No, your honour."

"I have no further questions. Court scribe, if you will administer the antidote."

Lenny once again stood up, went around to where Sirius was sitting, and administered the antidote.

"If you will now draw the appropriate memory pertaining to the incident in question."

"At once, Madam justice. Mr. Black, if you will produce the memories which cover the events in question." Lenny indicated the pensieve.

Sirius produced his wand, and placed the tip at his temple. He began to pull, almost gingerly, and a silvery strand of a hair-like substance began to pull away. Brady was fascinated as this happened. It looked almost gasssy in consistency. Longer and longer it became, until Sirius gave it a final little tug, and it separated completely. He then dropped it into the clay bowl, causing the liquid in it to shimmer in the light.

"Sirius Black. Do you swear before all these witnesses, that the memory we are about to view is complete and unmodified in any way, shape, or form?"

"I do swear."

Lenny tapped the clay bowl once with his wand, and what appeared to be a holographic image came to life at the centre of the table. The events unfolded exactly as Sirius had explained, beginning with his arrival at the Potters' residence, and ending with him being taken into ministry custody following the explosion on the street.

Patricia remained silent for several minutes, thinking over the testimony she'd just heard. Finally, she began, "The testimony I have heard here this evening paints a most disturbing picture of how badly things can turn out when conclusions are made based on assumption, rather than proper examination of evidence on hand.

Sirius Orion Black. Based on the testimony you have provided, and further evidenced by the pensieve memory provided, I find the charges levelled against you by our English counterparts to be unjust and illegal, and therefore have no bearing here within Canadian jurisdiction.

"Further, these findings will be circulated to the membership of the International Confederation of Wizards, with the hope that other jurisdictions will follow our lead. The accused has the right to due process, this is one of our tenets in a just society."

"Thank you, madam justice," said Sirius, softly.

"With this dismissal of charges here, comes the next matter of record."

"My client wishes to claim political asylum and protection from magical England," said Kate.

"Do you have a place to stay, Mr. Black?"

"I think we can make room," said Phil, "We might have to have a couple of people sharing, but we'll manage."

"Very well. Based on my previous ruling, I see no reason to also grant the application."

"Thank you, madam justice."

"Stop recording," said Lenny. The quills all stopped, and he began to collect the parchments, replacing them with new ones.

"Rasalas... I never realized..." Brady managed, giving Rasalas' shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Sit." Rasalas indicated the seat beside his own. Brady obliged, pulling off his cap, and rubbing his face.

"Your life really sucked."

"You have no idea... and I'm still seeing all this rubbish as a third party. I'm not kidding... had I lived through it (and somehow I did), I would have jumped off the highest bridge I could find."

"You don't really mean that, Mr. Black," said Patricia, sharply.

"My solicitor's been doing plenty of digging regarding my life up to the beginning of September. It's been unpleasant."

"I got your back, an' I mean that," said Brady.

"Are we ready to continue?" questioned Lenny.

"If Mr. Black is ready."

"I'm ready," Rasalas answered.

"Begin recording," said Lenny. The quills once again stood up, ready to begin writing.

"This hearing being held this second of November, in the matter of Black nee Potter and the English ministry for magic," Patricia began, "Madam justice Patricia Hoyt, with court scribe Leonard White, and lead Auror Stephen Jackson. Point of order, complainant appealing his conviction of underage sorcery, and application for political asylum within Canadian jurisdiction."

"Kate Lewis, solicitor for the applicant. My client submits the transcript of the hearing held on the second of August this year into evidence."

Kate reached into her portfolio, and produced a stack of pages, sliding them across the table.

"The court shall record the submission of a transcript, dated August 8, 2005, carrying the seal of the clerk of the Wizengamot," said Lenny, "The date of session is August 2, 2005, in the matter of Wizengamot vs Harry James Potter. Charges of casting the Patronus charm in the presence of a Muggle."

He slid the transcript to Patricia.

"The articles of note, I have marked with red tabs," said Kate, referring to a set of notes of her own, "The first, I find perhaps the most inflammatory of anything that follows, the interrogators saw fit to dismiss anything that Mr. Black nee Potter attempted to say when he was questioned. That in itself violates their own laws, your honour."

"I would have to agree," said Patricia, as she skimmed the indicated section.

"The second section, covers the testimony of a squib who lived near Mr. Black nee Potter's relatives on Privet Drive. Her testimony clearly describes what someone would experience, when confronted by a Dementor. Yet, the Wizengamot chose to dismiss this testimony."

Patricia skimmed through the second section.

"Mr. Black, given the fact you were not allowed to mount a proper defence, that alone is grounds for me overturning the verdict, which I will now do."

"Though he's already been practising magic here. Will that reflect on his record?" Sirius questioned.

"No. Given we have no record of the trace, the ministry will not be sending out warning letters or fines," said Patricia. "It is curious to know how this may have happened, Mr. Black."

"My client declines to answer on record," said Kate.

"We then move to the second part of this hearing. You are applying for political asylum within Canadian jurisdiction."

"Yes, your honour," Rasalas answered.

"You've been using the name Rasalas Black since arriving here back in August?"

"Yes ma'am. Both my godfather and Gringotts recommended I make the change."

"This is a legal name-change?"

"It is," said Sirius, "Show her the ring."

"Right." Rasalas tapped one of his right fingers, and the Black heir ring appeared.

"Very well," said Patricia. Brady, meanwhile, grabbed Rasalas' hand so he could have a closer look at the ring.

"Y'know... someone might get the wrong impression," Rasalas smirked. Brady quickly let go, but Rasalas left his hand where it was.

"Mr. Black..." said Lenny, with a glare.

"Sorry."

"I find the application in order, and so grant the petition. Additionally, to prevent the repeat of an undesirable event which transpired earlier, I'm ordering elevated protection detail for the property. Auror Jackson here will coordinate proper coverage. We are off the record."

"Stop recording."

"Thank you, madam justice," said Rasalas, inclining his head.

"No, it should be us thanking you, young man. Voldemort threatened us just as much as he did England. You and your family stopped him before he could claim complete victory."

"His mother was a powerful witch, never mind his father," said Sirius.

"No matter, it was a brave and noble thing that should not be forgotten, and England's Wizarding community should know better than to bite the hand that feeds it."

"We really do have to be going," said Lenny, as he packed the last of the papers in his portfolio, "This still has to be filed with the clerk."

"Yes, indeed. I bid you all a good night."

The pair of them left the room, and a moment later, there was a noisy _pop_.

"So... th-th-that's it?" asked Ryan, taking a seat at the table.

"That's it. As far as we're concerned here, he's been cleared of the charges, and is under our protection," Kate answered, "Though I might make a suggestion that we make this a permanent solution."

"Citizenship," Rasalas guessed.

"Exactly. Both you and your godfather, perhaps."

"It would send a rather incendiary message back to England," said Sirius, "But really. Dumbledore's tried his way. It doesn't work. So it's time to try something new. What would we have to do?"

"I'll get the paperwork started straight off. Or, at least, when I get into the office tomorrow. I know there's a lot to discuss, but this is getting ridiculously late, so I'd suggest that we get some rest and start fresh in the morning."

"Yes, I couldn't agree more," said Casey, "We still have to sort out sleeping arrangements."

"I can sleep with Harry—Rasalas, I mean," said Sirius.

"Mr. Black, that may not exactly be proper," said Casey.

"Rasalas can stay in my room," said Brady, "You can have his."

"If you're sure. I mean, I'm a sorcerer. I might eat your young," Rasalas teased. Brady rolled his eyes.

"I see some of your dad's humour is rubbing off," said Sirius.

"A little. Right. So, guys, once again. My godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius. This is Casey and Phillip Sawyer, their son Ryan, his friend Aaron; and last but not least, my new best friend, Brady."

A round of handshakes ensued.

"Do I detect a bit of southern English there?" Sirius questioned, as he shook hands with Brady.

"Georgia."

"Ah, of course."

"All right you lot. Rest. I mean it," said Kate, as she stood up, and collected her papers into her portfolio. "I'll drop by likely around nine tomorrow."

She stepped out of the room, and there came a soft _pop_.

Brady furrowed his brows. "So help me understand somethin'. People can just... jump from place to place."

"It's called Apparition," said Sirius.

"Kate's lining me up with an instructor, though stuff like this keeps happening and it keeps getting pushed back."

"Well, we'll make sure to change that. I would suggest we talk to Remus about tutoring; I'm positive he'll be happy to help you out with your schooling."

"Remus?"

"You don't remember him?"

"Sirius. I'm not kidding. I remember nothing from before the beginning of September, save for flash-memories that usually have no place or context. Everything I know about myself... it's been seen in the third person.

"These guys have been absolutely brilliant in looking after me... Mrs. Sawyer's become an honorary mother to me, and Ryan an honorary brother."

"Thank you all for looking after him. His correspondence suddenly stopped at the beginning of September, had a lot of us gravely concerned. Albus believed he'd died. But I knew better, given his heir status. Had he truly died, the ring would have been returned to Gringotts."

"Heir to what?" Brady asked.

"My estate," Sirius answered, "My dear old mother's about died again on a number of occasions, with me telling her what my godson here's been doing. You've been on a bit of a spending spree as of late."

"Yeah, providing security for the weekend event here was a bit steep. Nearly a half-million Canadian, if I remember correctly."

"It was very uncomfortable for most of the evening back at the house when I told her," Sirius smirked, "The Order had great difficulty holding their meeting."

"You'll share a pensieve memory of that, right?"

"Oh, I will, pup. Winding up my dear old mother's something of a sport."

"You hate your mom? Why?" asked Brady.

"My mother despised me when I wouldn't tow the family line. First in generations to be sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin, the first in generations to turn my back on our family's notorious reputation. Harry—or Rasalas' father and I were best friends; his family practically became mine when I was kicked out of the house.

"She died while I was in Azkaban, but was thoughtful enough to leave behind a large portrait of herself. It now frames the hallway in the family's ancestral townhouse in London."

"Wizarding portraits are 'alive' in some way, keeping some of the person's personality and memories in it," Rasalas explained, "One of the few memories I've remembered clearly, is of Sirius' mother's portrait. Even dead, she's a very unpleasant woman."

Brady scowled. "Sounds like fun."

Sirius let out a yawn. "Right. It's late here, which means it's outrageously late—or early, back in London. And since it's unlikely your room has more than one bed, we'll need to make a change or two."

"And I'll be setting up Auror patrols of the property," said Jackson.

"Feel free to come and go as you need to," said Casey, "I'll leave the coffee pot on."

"That's a generous offer, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Casey was just clearing the plates away after breakfast, when there was a soft pop outside, and moments later, there was a knock at the door. Ryan got up to answer it, and only moments after that, he brought Kate into the room.<p>

"Good morning everyone. I hope everyone was able to get adequate rest. I do have a few things to go over."

"Is Dumbledore still being held?" Sirius questioned.

"Yes, he's still being detained in a holding cell at the ministry," Kate answered, "He'll be arraigned this morning. It's known the man has a lot of political clout, but he did brazenly violate the law."

"Yes, that he does," Sirius agreed, "The better question, what are the chances of him being found guilty of what he's been charged with?"

"Very high, Mr. Black. Our system prides itself on impartiality. Dumbledore will face a similar hearing as was held here last night. With your godson's testimony alone, it'll be more than sufficient for a conviction. However, I would like all of you present to reinforce the evidence, to leave no room for doubt.

"Now, even in the unlikely event he should escape conviction, he will be barred from ever entering the country again. I still find it incredible such an intelligent, wise individual would commit such a... well—"

"Dumb move," Rasalas finished, "But knowing what I know about my past, it doesn't seem to really matter a whole lot to him, now, does it?"

"Maybe he was drunk or somethin'," Brady suggested.

"No. The man was more than aware of what he was doing," said Rasalas.

"Will the normal—I mean, non-magical authorities be told about him?" Aaron wondered.

"Yes, most definitely. When I said banned, I meant it. And knowing how the U.S. cooperates with us, he'll likely be banned from entering the U.S. as well. Again, this is something I wouldn't expect from someone who is well versed in international law.

"Now. The largest matter of immediate concern, is to establish property wards. Though I understand Rasalas and his godfather are only a guest, Dumbledore now knows where you live. This puts everyone here at risk, whether my clients remain here or not."

"Whatever the cost, I'll see it covered," Sirius promised, "In fact I might suggest bringing in a warding team from Gringotts."

"I was thinking of something along the same line," Kate agreed.

"Will the ward interfere with the business?" questioned Phil.

"No. Not at all. It will, however, prevent someone from just Apparating or using a port key to get onto the property. Should we need to, we can also prevent unwanted individuals from coming onto the property at all."

"Uh... I think that needs to be put in place anyway. There are individuals who should never be allowed near my godson, starting with Albus Dumbledore."

"The wards won't effect non-magical p-p-people?"

"Yes and no. If you black list someone, it won't matter whether they're magical or not. They'd bounce off the wards."

Aaron gave a smirk. "Yeah, I know exactly what you're thinking, Ryan... black listing three quarters of the school."

"Revenge is a dish best sssss-served cold," Ryan smirked.

Casey pursed her lips at what her son was suggesting, but Phil only gave a smirk of his own.

"Now. Next item I do need to cover. Mr. Gibson, I was under the impression you were supposed to return to the U.S. yesterday."

Brady scowled. "Was. Somethin' in my I.N.S. file's messed up an' they won' lemme back in the country."

"I see."

"And his credit cards and his bank card all stopped working last night," Rasalas threw in, "We found that out coming back from Peterborough."

"What were you doing in Peterborough?"

"Went for a drive," Brady answered, "I.N.S. bullshit pissed me off, an' Ras suggested it, so we went."

Kate had already produced a note pad and a dicta-quill, and it was scratching out notes as they spoke.

"I'll have someone back at the firm have a look and figure out what's wrong. That's if I have your permission."

"Can't make it worse than it already is," said Brady, with a shrug.

"So it's expected that you may be a guest of the residence for some time yet."

"It's a bit tight, but we can make do."

"And on that," said Rasalas, "Something I got to thinking about. Though with Sirius here, he'd probably be better-able to make sense of this than I will... uh... Mr. Sawyer, you sold the property on the west side of Bennett Road sometime ago, right?"

"Yes. Would've been about six years ago now. The owner then sold it to a developer who plans to build a subdivision."

"Something you would rather not see happen," Kate guessed.

"How difficult would it be for me to buy the land?"

"Well... the ethical issues aside, it would likely be very expensive, Mr. Black."

"Say, Sirius, what would you think, of the Blacks setting down new roots here in Canada?"

"We could get rid of Grimmauld Place, and a few others, but yes, we could most certainly do something like that. Miss Lewis, the Black estate is willing to pay up to one billion dollars Canadian for the property in question."

"One... billion..." Brady mouthed. "That's with a 'B', right?"

"You heard exactly," said Rasalas, grinning madly.

"Good lord, son, you're loaded."

Rasalas burst out laughing.

Kate, meanwhile, simply sat there, open-mouthed, at what she'd just heard. She knew the Blacks had a lot of clout, but that... there it was. To offer that kind of money off-hand... Sirius and his godson would turn the Wizarding world on its head, one way or another.

"Well now..." she finally said, after clearing her throat several times, "I'll... I'll need to determine the current owner is. This will likely take some time."

"We'll need to line up an architect... and I'll need to talk to my account manager. Uh... Mr. Sawyer, we're going to need a connection to the floo network."

Phil looked confused. "A what?"

"Your fireplace is nearly the right size, but in essence... it's a method of travel in the Wizarding world. It can also work somewhat similar to a telephone, in that one can talk to someone else through the fire."

Brady let out a snort. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"It will be more convenient if one's installed," Kate agreed, "And given Ryan is a wizard, there will be no trouble getting it done. If I can borrow your telephone once we're done meeting, I can get in contact with someone at Floo Regulation. With luck we might have someone in by the end of the day."

Sirius shook his head, but grinned. "It would never happen back in Britain. Installing a floo connection in the house of a Muggleborn? The application would be laughed out of the office."

"Such discrimination isn't tolerated here, Mr. Black," said Kate, "Witches and wizards are all equal under the law, and furthermore, it's made very clear that a witch or wizard is no better than non-magicals, or Muggles, as you refer back in Britain."

"Muggle... that makes us sound stupid or somethin'."

"We try not to use the term here, Mr. Gibson, as yes, it can be interpreted that way."

"It's the old pureblood rubbish my mother and father were always going on about," said Sirius, "That wizards were better than non-magicals. And purebloods were better than half-bloods and Muggleborn.

"Thing they fail to recognize, is that over the past couple of decades alone, some of the strongest witches and wizards in our world continue to be of either half blood, or Muggleborn. One of Rasalas' first friends continues to be near the top of her class as far as her grades go. She's a Muggleborn, just like Rasalas' mother, who was another incredibly bright young witch."

"It's a trend that also applies here, Mr. Black, though the purebloods here tend not to say a whole lot about it. The Canadian Wizarding community continues to be strong and flourish, because of the constant infusion of fresh blood."

"And until England gets that, our community will remain stagnant, if not continue to wither. Every witch or wizard who leaves England, is one more nail in the coffin," said Sirius, "I know that. Remus knows that. James knew that. And I'm pretty sure Albus knows that too. But most people are too closed-minded to realize the damage that's being done."

"Never mind the two Wizarding wars in the past hundred years alone... and the one that's on the horizon," said Rasalas, "Killing magical families won't help matters either."

"Which is exactly what Voldemort and his followers continue to do."

"Sounds like stuff has to change from the bottom up," said Aaron, "Whole attitudes need to change."

"You said it exactly," Sirius agreed, "But as it stands right now, no one has the political clout to do exactly that."

* * *

><p>It had been a most unpleasant night for the Hogwarts headmaster, being forced to share a cell with a number of other individuals being detained for one reason or another. To be treated like a common criminal, it was most humiliating, and it was made far worse, considering the people in the cell with him knew who he was.<p>

"My, how the mighty have fallen," one wizard had sneered.

The indignity continued that morning as he was led into a court room that looked better suited in the Muggle world. He wasn't even allowed to speak in his own defence, as a pair of solicitors debated the matter with the magistrate.

"Your honour, the defendant entered the country illegally, then attempted to curse a young wizard in front of a group of non-magical people. It can only be speculated as to exactly what his intentions were, but be it as it may, we have to treat this no different than we would if he carried the Dark Mark—"

"Objection."

"Sustained. Refrain from inflammatory remarks, councillor."

"Withdrawn. I do emphasize, however, that given the amount of political power the defendant has at his disposal, the crown feels he is a flight risk. He should therefore be remanded to ministry holding until trial date."

The appointed solicitor scoffed. "Insinuating my client carries Dark Mark? A most inflammatory, biased, and untrue remark, your honour! The defendant has nothing but a long list of great accomplishments, all for the betterment of our world. To lock him away would only tarnish a great symbol of the light, one we cannot lose in these troubling times."

The magistrate seemed to think a moment. "Yes, we are very much aware of Mr. Dumbledore's lengthy list of accolades and accomplishments, but that is neither here nor there. Given recent legislation, I am imposing special direction, as his actions fit the statute. Defendant is remanded to our detention facility at Toronto Island until trial. Next!"

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Ryan gets his wand, and the wand maker in Toronto has an unexpected reaction seeing Rasalas' wand; Brady experiences his first trip via port key and his first ride on a broom; and Rasalas has a most unsettling dream...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: Poor Dumbledore. If he expects special treatment from Canadian authorities, he's sadly mistaking. The Canadian ministry will most certainly react poorly to a witch or wizard entering the country illegally, no matter WHO they might be. Add to it, the fact that Dumbledore attempted to curse someone, they aren't going to play nice._

_Onward and upward, we now see Sirius and Harry/Rasalas begin to make plans for the long term. What sort of message will that send to England? Never mind the message being sent by Dumbledore's detainment._


	11. Wands and Wards

_Posted December 5, 2010._

_SUMMARY: __Ryan gets his wand, and the wand maker in Toronto has an unexpected reaction seeing Rasalas' wand; Brady experiences his first trip via port key and his first ride on a broom; and Rasalas has a most unsettling dream..._

* * *

><p><strong>111. WANDS AND WARDS<br>November 2 – 8, 2005**

"_...So Death crossed to an Elder tree near the river bank, snapped off a twig from one of its branches, fashioned a wand fifteen inches in length with the core of a Thestral hair, and gave it to Antioch, promising him that the newly-created Elder Wand would be the most powerful wand in creation."_

_- Beedle the Bard, _The tale of the Three Brothers

* * *

><p>With all of the excitement of the previous day and a half, there hadn't been a whole lot of time to explain things to Ryan's parents. The pair seemed to take everything in stride, and perhaps that was a good thing, all considering. Dumbledore's unexpected and unwelcome arrival had really thrown a spanner in the works.<p>

The morning of November 4 gave Rasalas and his godfather a chance to explain a few things, though the time was still rather tight, with an appointment being set for 10 am at Gringotts. Still, both wizards felt it was only right that Phil and Casey have a little insight into what their son truly was.

They had all moved into the living room—or the lounge, as the English would call it, with everyone taking a seat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, think back to when your son was still really young—just before he would have started school," Sirius began. "Did things happen around him that were... different, or odd? Things that you couldn't explain the reason for?"

"Well... there were the light bulbs that kept burning out in his bedroom when he was a toddler," Phil remembered.

"And the time the T.V. Suddenly started flicking through the channels for no reason. Ryan was sitting in his playpen, giggling up a storm."

"I sort of remember that. You guys were ignoring me, and I w-w-was like, 'ignore th-th-this!'," Ryan laughed. "Wait. There was this incident in kindergarten. This older girl, sh-sh-she kept calling me carrot top. So suddenly, one d-d-day, she said it, and, _pop_, her hair was this beet-red colour. It was epic.

"She learned real quick, getting s-s-s-served a dose of her own medicine."

"You were about five, dear," Casey remembered, "All the parents were talking about it. Then when he was electrocuted, it all stopped."

"Very likely, when he was electrocuted, the electric current likely fried his magical core, but in doing so, it saved his life. So, though he were no better off than a squib—someone with knowledge of magic, but unable to actually practice it—he lived," Sirius explained.

"But in eleven years, it's... it's r-r-rebuilt itself," Ryan guessed.

"The best way you could put it, yes. It's been able to heal itself. Tell me, your skill at Legilimency, has it gotten stronger in the past few years?"

"Yeah."

"Legilimency?"

"It's a type of magical mind art. Mrs. Sawyer, think of a colour that's not your favourite. Ryan, you tell your mother what it is."

"Um, pink."

"Good grief. And I thought he was only able to pick up only partial thoughts."

"That's a good way of putting it, I guess. Thing being, his ability has become stronger, because his core is getting stronger."

Casey thought for a moment.

"Had he not been electrocuted, what would have happened? When would we have found out?"

"Just before he turned eleven. He would have received a letter from a magical school here—I'm not sure what it's called or where it is—but there would have been an invitation to attend.

"That brings us to the next item that needs to be dealt with. Though Harry—I mean, Rasalas here, has loaned him a wand, it will never work as well as one that's been matched to him."

"As I've already promised, I'll pay for his wand, as a birthday gift—although belated."

"I know you'll likely have a load of questions, and I promise we'll answer them the best we can. But keep in mind, being a wizard doesn't make him any less human," said Sirius, "It's only one part that makes him who he is."

Casey smiled. "He already knows that. It's only one more thing that makes him unique, and there's not a thing wrong with it."

"Mr. Black, we are both very proud of the young man our son has become," said Phil, "I get the sense that some families have abandoned their children because of their ability."

"Yes, it has happened," Sirius answered, with a frown. "I don't know how that would be dealt with here, but the English ministry typically doesn't do a whole lot, since in most cases, the child is Muggleborn."

"Typical ministry crap," Rasalas muttered.

"So the wand. Where do we get it?" questioned Phil.

"In nearly the same place as the bank is," Rasalas answered, "Uh... Mr. Sawyer, maybe you should go with Sirius to Gringotts. The rest of us will go see about getting Ryan a wand."

"You go with Ryan, dear," said Phil.

"All right. So it's nearly ten o'clock, and the bank frowns on us being late. Where's Mr. Gibson?"

"Having a lie-in. He was working on new material or something when I went to bed," Rasalas answered, "I'll let him know we're going."

Rasalas climbed the stairs, and stepped into the room they were sharing, only to quite literally collide with Brady, who was coming out into the hall. The pair crashed to the floor, with Rasalas apologizing profusely.

"I didn't hurt you?"

"Fuck off, I ain't made of glass."

Rasalas only grinned, and offered his hand, helping Brady off the floor.

"I was just coming to see if you're coming with us. We've got to go into Toronto."

"The meeting at the bank," Brady remembered, as he collected their jackets.

"Sirius and Mr. Sawyer are meeting Kate there. The rest of us are going with Ryan to get his wand."

Brady threw on his jacket, and checked his wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Les' go."

Back in the parlour, they found Auror Jackson had joined them.

"Good morning all. So here's the rule," he began, "We'll be joined by at least two additional Aurors, though they'll be disillusioned. I'll be with you in plain sight."

"Sure. Thank you," said Rasalas.

Sirius was surprised. "My pup, you have changed. Last year, you would have protested high and low at having such protection."

Rasalas shrugged. "Whoever I was last year died in September. Like I said to Dumbledore, I plan on keeping it that way. If the government is willing to provide a protection detail, I'm not complaining. I'm only taking advantage of resources and aid given."

Sirius could only nod in agreement. It made perfect sense.

"All right. So the rules of travelling by port key, for those who haven't already done so," said Auror Jackson, as he produced an old aluminium pie plate. "When I tell you to, put a finger at minimum on the object. When triggered, you will be compelled to hold onto the object until we arrive at the programmed destination. When you let go, try and keep your feet out in front of you, it'll make the landing much easier than not."

Auror Jackson touched the pie plate with his wand. "_Portus_."

The object shimmered blue for a moment, before falling still.

"All right. Everyone gather around, and put a finger on it."

Brady thought it looked a little goofy, but followed the others' lead. He heard Jackson command "Activate"... and it felt as if he'd been snagged about the naval with a giant hook. The ground was quickly left behind, and he could feel people on either side of him, the wind howling about—it was almost like being flung through a tornado, if he could compare it to something. And then—

He was free. Remembering what Jackson had said, he tried to get his feet out in front of him, but the experience had left him disoriented, and he slammed into the ground on his backside.

"Bloody hell... need to re-shoot that landing, I think," Rasalas muttered beside him.

A chuckle from behind them revealed that both Sirius and Auror Jackson had landed on their feet, as had Phil. He was already helping his wife back to her feet.

"All right, love?"

"I'm perfectly well. Good grief," said Casey, looking around.

Rasalas had scrambled to his feet, and now helped Brady. Gone was the parlour, and they now found themselves standing in the middle of a square, with shops on most sides. One side, however, contained a massive marble-white building.

"All right. Mr. Sawyer, if you'll follow me. Kate should already be waiting for us," said Sirius.

"And I'll take these guys to O'Toole's. It's over there." Rasalas pointed to a small shop on the opposite side of the square. The lettering on the awning, painted in a rather non-descript, but elegant font, read:

_Jason O'Toole_

_Maker of fine wands and channelling devices_

_Est. 1876_

The shop itself was, much like Ollivander's, lined with what seemed like hundreds of tiny boxes. A difference, however, was in the number of taller sticks which were kept behind a long glass case along a side wall. A display case contained a few wands, along with a flood of rings.

"Rings?" Ryan arched an eyebrow. "I th-th-thought it was just wands."

"Rings, staves, and wands," spoke a stranger, appearing in a doorway leading to the back of the shop, "We also enchant amulets, bracers, and a number of other oddities as a focus, if you might be interested."

the speaker was in his thirties, slightly taller than he was, with a slim build. Like most of the witches and wizards in Canada, he wore Muggle clothing—this time charcoal grey dress pants, and a plain white dress shirt. His hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and a pair of glasses were stuffed in one of the shirt pockets.

"What can I help you all with?"

"My friend here has just discovered his magical gifts," said Rasalas.

"Well now. Step over here," Mr. O'Toole said, indicating Ryan step onto a spot marked with a five-point star. Ryan glanced at Rasalas, and at his nod, he stepped onto the marker. Mr. O'Toole, meanwhile, glanced at the rest of the party that had stepped into his shop.

"I note that three of you are not magical. Channelling devices react unpredictably when handled by someone who is not magical, so I would ask you not touch anything here. Auror Jackson. I gather you're chaperoning this lot? Let me see, maple, Hippogriff feather, sturdy, if I remember correctly?"

"It is," Auror Jackson answered, with a grin.

Mr. O'Toole refocused on the rest of the group. "Now, I assume one of you is a parent or guardian?"

"Mother," said Casey, "His father is tied up with business at Gringotts with an attorney. I'm Casey Sawyer, and this is my son, Ryan, and his friend, Aaron."

"Ah, well, good at least one of you is at his side during this particular moment. Now let's see..."

Mr. O'Toole produced his wand, and flicked it at a tape, which suddenly came to life, and began measuring the rather tall boy from every conceivable angle.

"Mr. Black. Good to see you. You've been explaining a little bit about our world, I assume."

"A little, enough to get him here. And of course, I will continue to do so. It was a little surprising, to say the least."

"Yes, indeed. Rare coming into his magical gifts so late... you nearly died from that."

Mr. O'Toole gestured to the nasty scar on Ryan's forearm. It wasn't a question.

"The thing about being a wizard, Mrs. Sawyer, is that magic does amazing things sometimes in defence of one. In this case, had your son not had magical blood, he would have died."

"As Mr. Black has explained just a little while ago. Unusual things used to happen around him... until his accident," said Casey.

"Ah. Accidental magic. It usually diminishes as the child grows into their magic, and learns to better control it. Outbursts can still happen, but they become much more rare as they get older."

"But not entirely impossible during adulthood," said Auror Jackson, "Though rare. I've attended more than a few incidents."

"Yes, very rare. As an adult, we tend to have much better control of our gifts. As to your son, the electrocution would have likely severely damaged his core, to the point of non-existence. Can either of you tell me just how much current was involved?"

"Phil said it was around five hundred volts direct current. I don't remember the amperage, it's not my area of expertise, Phil's the mechanic, not me."

"Deadly kind of current, then. Now. Let's see... I assume, Mr. Sawyer, you work with your left hand, given your injury?"

"Yes sir."

"When is your birthday?"

"October thirty-first, sir."

"Ah! A belated happy birthday, then!"

Mr. O'Toole then summoned a dozen boxes from various points around the room. Each had labels on their side, and the one thing in common, was the length. No wand contained within was under fourteen inches in length. It was only right, considering how tall Ryan was.

"Each of these boxes contains a wand. Do not wave it or try to cast magic with it. Just open each box, and pick up the wand inside."

"What will happen when I find one?"

"You'll know," answered Rasalas, as Ryan opened the first box. The wand inside was of a dark wood.

"Fourteen and an eighth of an inch, reed with a unicorn hair core."

To Ryan, the wand felt cold. Even Rasalas' wand felt better than this one, and he hadn't even touched it.

"Well? Pick it up."

"No. It f-f-f-feels wrong," said Ryan, putting the cover back on the box.

"Very good then. You know the difference. I trust Mr. Black has loaned you his wand?"

"Yes sir," said Ryan, as he moved to the next box.

The wand inside was identical to the last in colour. This one had long, thin lines etched along its length, much like fluting.

"Fourteen inches even, dragon heart string."

This time, Ryan pulled the wand out of the box. It felt dead to him. There was no connection to it. At least with the previous one, there had been some sort of connection, albeit a negative one. He put it back in the box, and closed the lid.

"Sir, w-w-why would I be able to use Rasalas' w-w-wand?" questioned Ryan, as he opened the next box.

"His wand knew it was being loaned to a friend. It understood the intent behind a stranger using it. These wands haven't given their allegiance to anyone just yet."

Ryan took the wand out of the box, and gripped it.

"Another dragon heart string core. Close, but not a perfect fit. Try the next one," said Mr. O'Toole.

Ryan replaced the wand back in its box, and opened the cover to the next.

The wand inside was slightly lighter than the others, with an intricate weave pattern at the base of it, just above the handle. Ryan was instantly drawn to it, and the instant flesh came in contact with it, he felt a tremendous surge of warm energy travel through him from head to toe. It somewhat reminded him of his accident at age six, but this—this was something wonderful. A smile touched his lips as he drew the wand fully from the box, and gripped it comfortably in his hand.

"Well! Third time's a charm, Mr. Sawyer. Fourteen and three quarters, reed, dragon heart string core, flexible."

"What kind of wood is it?" Rasalas dared ask.

"It's reed wood. Some have found it difficult to work, but that's not always the case. Considering Mr. Sawyer's reaction, it is a perfect fit, so he shouldn't find much trouble just the same."

"Cast a Lumos charm," Rasalas suggested.

Ryan squeezed the wand, intoning, "_Lumos_."

A sturdy light was broadcast from its tip.

"Very good, very good," said Mr. O'Toole.

"_Nox_." The light vanished.

"Excellent. How much do we owe you?" asked Rasalas.

"Eight galleons, twelve sickles and three knuts," replied Mr. O'Toole.

"Gringotts card okay?"

"Perfectly," Mr. O'Toole answered. Rasalas fished in his pouch for the right card, and passed it across the counter. He then produced his wand, with the intention of asking about a wand holster. Mr. O'Toole dropped the bank card.

"You're kidding me."

"What... what's wrong?" Rasalas questioned, confused at the wand maker's astonished expression.

"Mr. Black... may I see your wand for a moment?"

"Err... of course."

Rasalas passed over his new wand, and Mr. O'Toole began to cast a number of spells on it.

"L-l-looking for dark magic," Ryan guessed.

"No! No, nothing like that. My God, Mr. Black, where did you get this?"

"When Dumbledore visited the Sawyers the other night. He meant to attack me, and I disarmed him. I wasn't about to let him curse me."

"You cleanly disarmed him of _this_ wand?"

"Yes... but... what's so special about it? I mean, it works far better than this one—" Rasalas drew his holly wand, "—although I still like this one."

"Well, this one _should_ work much better for you. What do you know about the _Deathly Hallows_?"

"The what?"

Auror Jackson, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow. "You believe this is one of the fabled _Deathly Hallows_?"

"The _Elder Wand_, also known as the _Wand of Destiny_, the _Deathstick_, the _Eldruhn Wand_, and a few others... _this_ wand, Mr. Black. Whatever you do, do not tell others about it. You see, this wand has a history painted in blood."

"It's the most powerful wand in the world," said Auror Jackson, "It's claimed to be unbeatable in a duel."

"I won't go into the detail of it's history, but each of us as wand makers know of it. You say Albus Dumbledore had this?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Black... you are truly a remarkable wizard, and a powerful one. There's no way a lesser man could have won this wand, let alone someone as young as you are," said Jason, shaking his head.

He handed the powerful wand back to its owner.

"Like I said, don't broadcast this sort of thing, or you won't just have to worry about you-know-who. This wand has a bloody history."

He thought for a moment.

"If you want a little insight into the wand and the Deathly Hallows, look for a book _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. More specifically, the story in it called, _The tale of the Three Brothers_."

"I'll loan him my copy. It was a favourite of mine when I was a child," Auror Jackson admitted.

Brady had remained silent up to this point, but now let out a snort. "Dumbledore looked pretty easy to beat to me."

"Yeah, considering you th-th-threw a beer bottle at his head."

Mr. O'Toole gave a nod. "You caught him off guard. He likely didn't expect interference. Though... again, it surprises me you were able to get one over on him at all... the man has quite the reputation. He was responsible for the defeat of Grindelwald at the end of the second world war."

"The previous Dark Lord in Britain," Auror Jackson clarified.

"Y'mean, this shit's happened before," Brady guessed.

"Does it not surprise you?"

"I s'pose not."

* * *

><p>It was well after lunch before they returned to the house. It was just in time, as a pair of witches appeared in the back yard, claiming to be from Floo Regulation. Auror Jackson requested credentials before allowing them into the house. They set to work on the fireplace, and it was late in the afternoon before they finished.<p>

They had no sooner left after conducting tests to ensure it was working, when a group of goblin warders arrived, along with a single wizard. He was tall and thin, sharing a somewhat similar appearance to Ryan, including his ginger hair, though he had tied it back in a pony tail.

"Rasalas," Sirius said, "You likely don't remember him, but this is Bill Weasley."

"Ron's older brother," said Rasalas, as they shook hands, "I sort of remember you, but... not clearly, and mostly through third party."

"Don't worry about it," said Bill, "Sirius had told us about your situation. Don't think for a moment that any of us support what Albus did to you. A few members of the Order had a few choice words to say about the matter, and we'll certainly have loads more to say about it when he returns to London."

"Right. Nice to know there are still people on my side back in England. Moving along... uh... this is Ryan and his parents, Phil and Casey. His best friend, Aaron... and my new best friend, Brady. Guys. Bill Weasley."

A round of handshakes ensued.

"So we'll get right to it. This is Arlen, one of the lead warders at Gringotts. He'll be leading the team with the warding scheme," Bill explained, introducing a rather tall goblin.

"A pleasure."

"Mr. Black," said Arlen, with an incline of the head. He then turned to Casey and Phil. "Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, since you now have a connection to the floo network, we'll want to apply wards to it as well."

"Do whatever you need to do. Mr. Black has spelled out just how dangerous certain elements of the magical world can be, and really, we don't want a repeat event," said Phil. "One thing to remember, we do have a business, so nothing that will interfere with my... non-magical clients."

"The wards will only interfere with Muggles if they're specifically instructed to," said Bill.

"Time is money, shall we see to it?" Arlen prodded. There was no further argument, as the team set off, heading to the north end of the property.

"They will likely be a few hours," said Sirius, "So the next thing we need to deal with, is making the rooms more comfortable. I won't be able to do a whole lot, but I should be—"

"Give us some privacy," Rasalas guessed.

"Exactly."

"Y'know I don' mind sharing, Ras."

"You're famous," Aaron said, "You deserve space right?"

Brady only shrugged. "Really. Sharin' close quarters with some cool friends, nah, don' bother me none."

"Still. We'll make a few adjustments," said Sirius.

"We're fine the way things are," Aaron smirked.

Rasalas smirked right back. "Uh huh."

"Boys..." Casey pursed her lips.

"I p-p-plead the fifth."

"We don't have a fifth amendment here, Ryan."

"Sssss-so?"

Aaron smirked, and gave his friend a swat, which was swiftly returned.

"Boys!"

Rasalas only rolled his eyes. The interaction was most definitely not lost here. They were definitely more than friends. It was very likely the extra bed in Ryan's room hadn't been slept in for some time.

He smirked, deciding to fan the flames a little. "Well... since they do just about everything else together, now Aaron can help him polish his wand."

Ryan's face immediately flushed, while Aaron opened his mouth several times to say something, only to snap it shut, feeling his face also get rather warm. Sirius, meanwhile, was sent into a coughing fit, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Brady looked confused for a moment, and Rasalas started counting in his head, waiting to see how long it would take for the guy to catch on.

"Uh. Okay then," he finally said, as it suddenly clicked. "Jus' keep your hands to yourselves an' we'll get along jus' fine."

"No, I think they'll be too busy with their hands all over each other," Rasalas again smirked.

"Rasalas Black!" Casey finally scolded him, at last finding her voice. "Good grief, boy."

"No harm d-d-done, Ma," Ryan grinned, "We didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

"There was a rumour you didn't like gay guys," said Aaron, gesturing to Brady.

"Whoever started that's full of shit," Brady answered, scowling, "If you're gay, so what? Ain't nothin' 'ya can do about it, God made 'ya that way. Jus' bein' clear though, _I ain't_. I like my Daisy Dukes, thank you very much."

"Err. Right, then," Rasalas grinned.

Inside, though, Rasalas had to wonder. What was he? What side of the field did he play on? Did he have a special someone? Perhaps he would have to ask Sirius when he had a chance. Really though. There were more important matters presently than worrying about his love life, or the lack thereof.

Though... if he did have to admit, Brady did have a very nice frame... WHAT? He mentally gave his head a shake. Nope. No time for that.

* * *

><p>The early morning hours of November 8th had Rasalas awake with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The dream had been a little strange, finding him staring longingly at a black door at the end of a black-tiled corridor. Wait. He'd seen that door. The entrance to the Department of Mysteries, wasn't it?<p>

"Ras?"

Rasalas looked to the other side of the room. Brady had woke up, and had turned on his side to face his roommate.

"What's wrong?"

"S-strange dream," Rasalas answered, sitting up. He felt wide awake now, so no sense in bothering to try and get back to sleep. A glance at the clock told him it was after 6 am as it was. The sky was already starting to lighten in the east, heralding the approaching dawn.

"Can... I mean... I want to take you flying."

Rasalas stood up, and threw on a tee shirt. He then collected his pouch, and reached into it, pulling out his Firebolt, that had been miniaturized for easy carrying. Producing his wand, he tapped it once, restoring the broom to original size.

"Now?"

Rasalas only smirked.

"Seems it was not that long ago that you came banging at my door at the crack of dawn wanting me to go for a ride with you. You've become a bad influence, Mr. Gibson."

Brady grinned, as he pulled on a shirt.

"Yeah, all right, 'ya sold me."

"I warn you, you'll likely not look at your bike the same way ever again. And dress warm. We can go pretty high."

Minutes later, they stepped outside, and Brady grabbed the helmets from the side compartment of his bike. It just seemed practical to him, and so Rasalas went along with it. And perhaps it might be a good idea for keeping the head warm, too.

"Going for a ride?"

Rasalas looked up to see one of the Aurors approaching.

"Flying," he answered.

"All right. We'll be in the air with you, but out of sight. And you do know about notice-me-not charms?"

"Yeah, I remember it."

"What's it do?" Brady asked, as he did up his helmet.

"Prevents you from being seen. It's a must when flying in a non-magical area," the Auror explained.

"Right, makes sense," Brady realized. That also filled in more of why he'd not seen anything—

"Wait a 'sec. Uh... few years ago there was this thing in the paper 'bout a flying car."

"An enchanted car. It was in London," said the Auror, "Had the English ministry rather busy for a while."

Brady thought for a moment, before smirking.

"So we could make my bike fly."

"Well..."

"The ministry kind of frowns on doing that kind of thing, Mr. Gibson."

Rasalas, meanwhile, finished securing his helmet.

"All right. Here."

"I... what?" Brady was surprised, when Rasalas passed him the broom.

"Hold it at an angle, so the handle's pointing up, and straddle it like you would your bike."

Brady was hesitant, but... Rasalas hadn't deliberately put him in harm's way, so what they hey... He did as instructed, and was momentarily surprised, feeling something like a seat rather than just a hard shaft.

"Cushioning charm," said Rasalas, at the unasked question. "Now sit forward a bit so I can get on behind you."

Brady adjusted his position, and Rasalas got on behind.

"All right. Now. Grip the handle... a little further up... good. Feet up, in the stirrups."

Brady followed his instructions, and Rasalas then pulled his feet up, putting them on the outer edge of the stirrups... not exactly comfortable, but it would work.

"All right. So the controls are... I guess it's like telepathy. Really never thought of how it actually works. The broom somewhat knows what you want it to do."

"Oh. Like..."

The next instant, they were gone like a shot.

"Woah..."

"Yeah, a little slower, please."

"Why? Slow is for sissies."

"I'd rather not plow a ditch, Brady. Bloody hell. Let me teach you how to fly it properly first!"

They rapidly slowed down, with the broom still barely off the ground.

"Get us some height... good."

Rasalas produced his wand, and tapped himself on the head, casting a notice-me-not charm. He then repeated it with Brady and the broom. They were then about a hundred feet off the ground, making a steady track west over the field on the other side of Bennett Road.

"Right. So lean forward a bit, and tighten your grip a bit... good." They picked up speed. "Now, bank left—not too much! Good." They turned sharply, so they were then headed east.

"Bank right just a bit... no, not out over the lake."

"Damn... this is like—"

"I think I've always loved flying," said Rasalas, "When I first got here back at the beginning of October, me getting back on the broom it was like a surge of joy shooting through my entire body. As if it had been a long time since I'd last done it."

"Well, you're right about earlier. I think I got myself a new girlfriend."

"Sorry, you can't have her. Sirius got this for me. But I'll tell you what. You be really nice and maybe I'll buy you one for Christmas. Though I already owe Ryan one."

"You celebrate Christmas?"

"I dunno," Rasalas answered, "But... I really don't care where or whatever, just as long as I have my friends close. That's all that matters."

"Yeah, agreed."

"What will you do if your matter with the border isn't fixed?"

"No clue. An' yeah, I'm worried... jus' not that worried yet."

"Kate's a pretty good solicitor, and she's a witch. So she should be able to figure out what's going on and get it straightened out. Though I will miss having you around."

"Yeah, I know 'ya will."

"Right. All right, it's all yours."

They were gone like a shot, as Brady pushed aggressively on the handle. Rasalas redoubled his grip, as the broom nearly reached its limit. The wind was almost painful in their faces, they were going so fast. Perhaps Rasalas should have warned him of the top speed the broom was capable of. No, it wouldn't have mattered. It had been demonstrated on several occasions already, Brady was a speed demon, and that easily translated to him in control of a magical object capable of a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Dumbledore is forced into an unsavoury choice to avoid an actual criminal trial; Brady starts teaching Rasalas how to drive; further incidents involving Brady's records has the American magical government becoming involved; plans begin to take shape for the Christmas holidays; and Rasalas is having more strange dreams, one of which being far too real...<em>


	12. Ulterior Motives

_Posted December 7, 2014_

_SUMMARY: __Dumbledore is forced into an unsavoury choice to avoid an actual criminal trial; Brady starts teaching Rasalas how to drive; further incidents involving Brady's records has the American magical government becoming involved; plans begin to take shape for the Christmas holidays; and Rasalas is having more strange dreams, one of which being far too real..._

* * *

><p><strong>112. ULTERIOR MOTIVES<br>November/December, 2005**

"_Everyone has an ulterior motive. Everyone wants something, and everyone is willing to do whatever they have to in order to get it. Regardless of who winds up hurt in the process."_

_- Kyra Dune_

* * *

><p><em>November 9<em>

Rasalas had held a mental debate as to whether it was still worth it to take the GATB or not. Given he was most definitely continuing with his magical education, there was a question of whether or not he'd be able to keep up with both. There was also a question of whether it was worth continuing to see the occupational therapist, given he now had someone who filled the parental role.

A discussion with Sirius had helped him to make up his mind. No, the GATB would be a waste of time, since he was a magical student first. So, that day, he informed Ashley he no longer needed her help. Expecting her to be disappointed that she was losing a client, he was surprised at her answer.

"Rasalas, I'm glad for you. I had wondered when you would decide to stop seeing me, all considering. You've got a lot of people around you who absolutely make my presence unnecessary."

"Oh. Well, I mean... you've been a big help."

"It's what I do. Just remember, that if you feel you need further support, I'm just a phone call away."

* * *

><p><em>November 10<em>

It had been a humiliating experience for Albus Dumbledore. Having been denied bail, he'd been forced to endure the confines of a ministry holding cell for an entire week, before being led into a room with three solicitors.

"Professor. This is what's on the table," said the first, "You'll plead guilty to entering the country illegally. We'll drop the charges of assault on a wizard, and violating the statute of secrecy. You'll be permanently banned from entering Canada, but your reputation will only be slightly impacted."

"Should you decline, we will most definitely bring this to trial, and before you protest, be aware that we have pensieve testimony from all the persons present during the events in question. Unlike you Brits, we admit pensieve testimony during trial, and we do question witnesses while they are under the influence of Veritaserum," said the second.

"Professor, I urge you to accept the plea. It's the last thing the light side needs right now, to see your image be dragged down by such an incident."

Dumbledore sat quietly for a few moments, weighing his options.

"You must understand, gentlemen, of the importance Mr. Potter—"

"That's _Mr. Black_, professor," the first solicitor corrected him, "Who, as it stands, has had his conviction of violating the statute of secrecy overturned by a magistrate here."

"Well... that's wonderful news, I do agree. Yet—"

"Yet _nothing_, sir," said the solicitor assigned to his defence, "We need to focus on the matter in front of you. Take the deal, professor."

"If I agree to such terms, that may impact my ability to dispense the power of my position with the I.C.W."

"Perhaps you should have carefully weighed the consequences, before using your familiar to illegally enter the country, professor. Now make your decision," said the second solicitor.

Dumbledore let out a sigh. This had gone nothing like he'd intended. It should have been just a simple matter of popping in, gripping the boy about the arm or shoulder, and popping back to London. No, instead, he'd been nearly beaned in the head by a beer bottle of all things, and stunned by the boy who shouldn't have had a wand in the first place! He needed some options, and being stuck in a foreign ministry's holding cell was not productive.

"Very well. I will agree to the terms."

* * *

><p><em>DUMBLEDORE ENTERS PLEA BARGIN<em>

_HEADMASTER PLEADS GUILTY TO _

_ENTERING CANADA ILLEGALLY_

_Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, plead guilty to the charge of entering Canada illegally, at the Canadian Ministry of Magic in Toronto yesterday, after being persuaded to settle for a plea bargain rather than facing a full criminal trial. The two additional charges, performing magic in front of Muggles, and assault on a wizard, were both withdrawn._

_Both the French and American ministries have spoke out against such deplorable actions, an indication that perhaps the headmaster of Hogwarts has truly lost touch with his priorities, instead presenting himself as a potential danger to the Wizarding world._

"_The Minister has grown even more alarmed by the headmaster's recent actions abroad, and is still considering options at this point, and will be speaking to his advisers late today or more likely, on Monday," said Junior Assistant to the minister, Percy Weasley._

_Several members of the Wizengamot, meanwhile, also condemned the headmaster's actions. "Such behaviour only continues to set a poor example for the hundreds of students who are supposed to be under his guidance, and I do believe it's time a change is made," said Lucius Malfoy, who up until the end of the 2002 school year, sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. "The headmaster or headmistress of our prestigious school should not be a convicted criminal—whether such charges originated here or abroad."_

"_The ministry will be requesting court documents with regard to the eccentric headmaster, to see if further charges might need to be laid here, since the Canadian ministry lacks the fortitude to see charges properly levelled and prosecuted. Criminal acts require justice, no matter who the perpetrator may be," said another ministry insider, who wishes to remain unnamed..._

"They can r-r-really say that?" said Ryan, as Kate finished reading. It was the morning of November 11, and everyone was once again gathered in the dining room, as she delivered the news of the plea bargain.

"Unfortunately, yes," answered Kate, "Though I hear the head of International Cooperation is fuming at the inflammatory comments."

"No shit," said Aaron, "They said our justice system didn't have any balls."

That earned a glare from Casey, as she cleared the table.

"Will the ministry here be making any kind of statement?" asked Rasalas.

"I would count on it. Though I warn you, your name is likely going to come up in all this. Be ready for some attention on this side of the Atlantic."

"Yeah, I sort of figured that much."

"In honesty, I'm surprised they didn't mention you in the article, pup," said Sirius.

"Being protected under our laws, we won't allow your name to be run through the mud, Rasalas. International paper or not, we can lodge complaints through the I.C.W., and make it rather difficult for them. It won't be wise for them to get into a pissing match with us, our ministry's been looking for an excuse to take a swipe at magical Britain."

"I won't allow my godson to be a pawn, that was one of the points of him coming here," said Sirius, firmly.

"And he won't be. Though his situation will likely be used as an example, we won't ever ask him to act as any sort of poster boy. That would be most certainly unfair," said Kate.

She then reached into her portfolio, and pulled out two stacks of paper.

"Mr. Black, and Mr. Black, these are documents I need both of you to fill out and sign where indicated."

She passed them to Sirius and Rasalas.

"Citizenship applications," Rasalas realized.

"Th-th-three years," said Ryan, "It takes three years."

"Actually not," Kate said, "The ministry will actually process these, and the chance of approval is pretty high. If approved, the documentation will be finalized in a few weeks, being then put on file with Citizenship and Immigration."

Brady arched an eyebrow. "Just because someone's a wizard?"

"Yes, in most cases. It's quite something how many witches and wizards actually immigrate here from European countries. Anyone want to guess why that is?"

"Bigotry," said Rasalas, simply.

Kate gave a sad nod. "Exactly. The stats are about the same in the U.S., and will continue to be so as long as the conditions exist across the Atlantic."

Aaron let out a snort, but softened. "Well. It could be much worse. We could all be in the Republic of Equatorial Kuhndu."

Rasalas looked at him funny. "Do I really want to know?"

Brady shook his head, but Kate only happily supplied the answer. "Unspeakable genocide. It was covered quite extensively in the news. It was back on inauguration day in the U.S., if I remember correctly(1)."

She let out a sigh. "Perhaps that's one thing that is a little different in the magical world; we've not directly attempted to exterminate hundreds of thousands of people—millions in the case of Nazi Germany during the war."

"No, we only exterminate hundreds," Sirius muttered, "It's no different. Without my parents and their fanaticism, or the Malfoys, or a seemingly unending list of pureblood supremacists, Britain could be just as great as the Wizarding communities here."

"Right. Enough rubbish. Here." Rasalas slid the completed form across the table. "I've got second year Charms to review."

* * *

><p>The next few weeks passed without any great fanfare, as things settled into a bit of a routine. Between Sirius and Kate, Rasalas was then receiving private schooling in his fifth year material, though it was for the most part a review of prior years, given the O.W.L. exams at the end of the year.<p>

Then there were days when Phil would pull Rasalas into the commercial shop to lend a hand with something. That would end up wasting the afternoon, or more, depending on what it was they were working on. And on most occasions, Brady would quickly follow. It was quite clear from the onset, that the guy knew his way around a shop.

Rasalas also began receiving driving lessons. Most of the time it was with Brady, since Ryan had school most of the time. On odd occasions, he was able, typically on the weekend. Though when that happened, Ryan proved to be more of a distraction than anything—or more the case of Aaron being the distraction. And if Brady decided to come along... Rasalas had started hexing people when the distractions became too much, which then resulted in him getting grief from the Aurors providing protective detail.

Weekends were typically spent with Rasalas teaching Ryan first year material. Kate had suggested Ryan finish his school year by correspondence, and sit in on the lessons Rasalas was getting, but Ryan refused. He would finish grade twelve, then he could focus full-time on magical knowledge.

The weekends, then, were for the most part spent on first-year magic, with a few exceptions. Rasalas insisted that Ryan know how to properly cast a shield charm, how to cast the disarming spell, and just as important, how to cast a stunner. They weren't first-year spells, but Rasalas felt it imperative that Ryan know how to protect himself.

* * *

><p><em>November 25<em>

"Rasalas... uh... could 'ya call your lawyer for me?"

Brady stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a scowl on his face. Rasalas put a bookmark in the second-year Charms text book, and closed it.

"What happened?"

"Guys back at the house say this letter came from the I.R.S., so I got them to open it. They're threatenin' to start seizein' property, claimin' I owe years of back taxes. It's _bullshit_, I don't owe nothin'."

"Right. I'll get Kate to come over," Rasalas said, reaching for the cordless telephone. He punched in the number.

"_Norman, Lewis, and Graham, may I help you?_"

"Kate Lewis, please."

"_I'm sorry, she's in court, likely until lunch time. May I take a message?_"

"Tell her it's Rasalas Black, that she get in touch with me as soon as humanly possibly."

"_Oh. I can have a clerk—_"

"It's not an emergency. I mean, it's not that urgent that she needs to be pulled out of court."

"_It'll likely be this afternoon._"

"All right. Call... or if it's possible, I do need to see her in person. I'm at the Sawyers."

"_I'll make sure she knows._" There was a click.

"It'll be after lunch," said Rasalas, setting the phone back down, "She's in court for the morning." He glanced at his friend. "I'd say let's go out on the broom, but... even warming charms don't really protect against the chill now."

"Yeah 'n the bike's out, same reason. Wouldn't be if we was home."

"Let's borrow Mr. Sawyer's truck and go for a drive."

It was well after lunch before they returned, and they found Kate waiting for them, with Casey keeping her company, a pot of tea set out on the kitchen table.

"Clearly, it wasn't that urgent a matter," said Kate, pursing her lips.

"I asked him to call 'ya," said Brady, shedding his jacket and putting it on the back of one of the chairs. "I.R.S. sent me some letter, sayin' I owe back taxes."

"And you don't," Kate guessed.

Brady let out a snort and scowled. "Don't know what it's like here, but back in Georgia, 'ya pay or else."

Kate hummed. "I'll need your permission to access your records. And I mean _everything_, Mr. Gibson. If you've faced charges, if you've been taken to court, if you've been involved in any sort of litigation. You have your own solicitor back in the U.S.?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll need to speak with them. If it's what I think it is, your present solicitor will be in no position to help you. I'll also need to speak with your commercial solicitor—that is, the firm who represents you as a musician. And I'll likely need to speak with the solicitor for your record label."

"What d'you think it is?"

"Mr. Gibson, I believe you may have a magical stalker."

"Seriously?"

"Being magical is only a part of who someone is," said Kate, "Not all. We're as human as you are, we're ruled be the same emotions, have the same flaws, and yes, commit similar crimes.

"Unfortunately, someone who is magical can cause far greater problems, using their craft to commit their crimes. It's one of the reason that crimes committed by a wizard against non-magicals are prosecuted more severely."

"You're talkin' unfair advantage."

"You could put it that way. We have a gift, being magical. With it comes responsibility. A responsibility to ourselves, and a responsibility to those who _don't_ have our gifts."

"What will it mean for Brady?" Casey questioned.

"We'll push the American Department of Magic to provide protection at his residence, and the residence of immediate family. We'll also press them to open an investigation, and hopefully get his records corrected."

"'an I can go home?"

"Hopefully, yes. With the ministry—or the Department of Magic in your case, being involved... things will get sorted out pretty quickly."

* * *

><p>it took less than a week for the American Department of Magic to set Brady's records back to rights. Opening an investigation on November 26th, they very quickly discovered the tampering was magical in nature. The computer records were more difficult to fix, but a hidden flag was added so that any changes would raise a flag with the American DMLE.<p>

Realizing the threat was indeed magical in nature, the Department provided a protection detail, both at Brady's residence, and that of his immediate family, beginning on November 27.

"So I can go home now," said Brady, after Kate finished her update on the afternoon of December 1.

"If you really want to, then yes," Kate answered, "However, I would suggest you don't. Wait until the ministry actually catches the person or persons responsible. Being here, you're protected by rather formidable wards, while returning home, you won't be."

"Can't 'ya put wards on my house?"

"No," Kate answered, sadly, "Magical laws forbid the erection of any sort of ward on a strictly non-magical residence."

"I could go stay with him," Rasalas suggested.

Kate shook her head. "No. You'd be considered just a magical visitor, rather than a permanent resident."

Brady let out a huff. "May's well move my ass here then, seems like I ain't goin' anywhere else."

"Just trust us, Mr. Gibson, we'll get this all sorted out one way or another. As it stands, the Americans are investigating a rash of similar cases. There may be a connection."

"Wonder if it's Death Eaters."

Kate shook her head. "You know that's unlikely, Rasalas. They wouldn't go after just a few people. And really. Death Eaters here in Canada—or the U.S. for that matter? They'd get a very frosty welcome."

She softened.

"Now. I'm sure you're probably wanting to at least spend a night or so back under your own roof, and that much we can arrange. The American Department of Magic has given permission for us to make port keys for you."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. You'll probably want to spend the weekend, and while that's fine, I wouldn't suggest staying longer. If your stalker realizes you're home..."

"But you got Aurors watching the place..."

"Who can't be everywhere. Just trust us. It's safer if you come back here."

Brady let out a huff. As much as he hated it, he knew Kate was right. Last thing he wanted, was for the person causing the problems showing up at his mother's place—or his brother's. If he really thought about it, it was no different than when he was out on tour. Getting home had been a rarity during the spring and summer.

* * *

><p>Brady was gone until Monday. Though he'd invited Rasalas to join him, Rasalas had declined, deciding it best if Brady reunite with his family alone. There would likely be plenty of opportunity once the crazy stalker business had been sorted out and the fool responsible introduced to a Dementor—well, one could only hope. Unlikely, of course. The fool would spend a few years in Azkaban, but no, the crime wouldn't warrant the Kiss.<p>

The three nights he was away proved to be challenging for Rasalas, with sleep being a fleeting thing. All three nights, he'd awoken, having experienced the same strange dream: the black corridor with the door that led into the Department of Mysteries, and feeling the powerful desire to reach out and open it. Far worse, it felt like... the emotion he was feeling was not his... as though he were experiencing another person's perspective. It was most unsettling.

Then there came the strange incident on Sunday. While teaching Ryan first-year Transfiguration, he'd had a surge of anger that came out of left field, and had to leave the house rather than lash out at someone. If he thought the strange dreams were weird... this... this was unnatural.

For the time being, he kept the strange experiences to himself, though he realized that, if it worsened, he would need to speak to someone. Last thing he needed was to end up somehow possessed by someone—was that even possible? Most definitely, if it persisted, he would speak to Bill Weasley at a minimum. He was an expert on curses, so he would likely have insight on the matter.

Monday couldn't arrive any sooner, but it was nearly dinner time before a pair of Aurors brought Brady back to the Sawyers. The strong wave of relief Rasalas felt was more than evident, as Brady stepped into the dining room. The pair of Aurors gave a simple nod toward Rasalas, before leaving the house to return to their patrol.

"Missed me, huh?"

"You have no idea," Rasalas answered, "But... well... uh, how was your weekend?"

"It was all good, yeah. Spent lots 'a time with mom... went to church yesterday... few things I'm missin' here, y'know, shit like that."

"Oh. Well, good. I missed your... your presence, I guess," said Rasalas, "But... it's selfish of me to expect you to be here, right? I'm glad you were able to get home."

"Next time I go home, you're comin' with. Mom wants to meet 'ya."

Casey stepped into the dining room.

"Mr. Gibson, good to see you back." She glanced at the table. "I'm going to need the table soon, dinner's nearly ready."

"Oh. Err... apologies," said Rasalas, with a sheepish grin.

"What're 'ya doin' anyway?" Brady questioned.

"Making plans for my house. The deed to the property came through today, so now I can start planning things out. And everyone's been giving me suggestions," Rasalas explained, as he began picking up the number of papers and parchments that were scattered across the table.

"I might have a few suggestions."

Rasalas grinned. "I'm sure you do."

* * *

><p><em>December 16<em>

With Christmas getting ever closer, it became more and more difficult to focus on the review. Considering, according to Sirius, the holidays for Hogwarts students began that day, Rasalas decided to follow suit, considering up to the end of the previous school year, he was a student there.

After lunch, then, Rasalas had once again borrowed the Sawyers' truck, and coaxed Brady to go for a ride with him. Though really, there wasn't a lot of coaxing involved. It hadn't taken all that long for Rasalas to get a good handle on driving, and so these days, going for a drive at this point usually meant being gone for hours.

Mid-afternoon found them almost flying down one of the many back roads in the area, kicking up the fine dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. Brady had one of his notebooks open on his lap, and was scribbling out notes and phrases, sometimes saying or singing bits aloud. It was nothing new to Rasalas by this point, seeing Brady working on new material. He had to wonder how much his current experiences were influencing what he wrote.

A broom and its rider abruptly materialized a short distance ahead of them, and the rider pointed a finger to the side of the road. Rasalas knew Aurors always followed them when they left the residence—always invisible, but always there. So, what was the problem? He applied the brakes, and pulled over.

Brady looked up from his notebook. "What's wrong?"

"Aurors asked us to stop."

Already, the broom and its rider had come alongside the vehicle. Rasalas rolled down the window and momentarily shivered at the blast of chilly air that invaded the cab. It was Auror Jackson.

"You need to go back to the house right away. We're going into lockdown."

"What happened?"

"We'll explain shortly. Just get back to the house right away."

Rasalas frowned. "All right."

He rolled the window back up, muttering under his breath. The one problem with being in a non-magical machine, is that they couldn't just leave it in the middle of nowhere. It was likely to get towed away, or vandalized. Rasalas turned the vehicle around, and they sped off.

Arriving back at the house sometime later, they found the protection detail had been doubled at a minimum. As soon as they parked the truck, Auror Jackson hurried over.

"C'mon, let's get inside. We're raising the ward protection strength to lethal."

Rasalas arched an eyebrow. "Lethal? What happened?"

"Death Eaters arrived by illegal port key near Gander, Newfoundland. Three have been captured, while five more remain at large. An illegal port key was also detected near Athens, Georgia. Aurors arrived too late to determine who it was, but given the the other port key brought Death Eaters, it's a save bet the port key in Georgia did too."

A panicked look briefly crossed Brady's face. "My mom..."

"Auror protection's been doubled at both your property and your mother's. Should things escalate, both your mother and your brother will be removed to a secure location."

Brady seemed to relax, but gave a grim nod. "Do they tell Homeland Security 'bout this shit?"

"Depends. If the Department of Magic believes the matter might also threaten non-magical interests, then yes. But the problem with drawing non-magical authorities into it, is that they would inconvenience people without being able to explain why. And considering it's so close to Christmas, the authorities need a really good reason."

"So an unknown number of Death Eaters are now at large in the U.S. and Canada," Rasalas summarized.

"Yeah, that's about it. Floo regulation both here and in the U.S. are monitoring the floo network, and we're watching for unusual port key traffic. And needless to say, Mr. Gibson, we can't permit you to travel home until this is cleared up."

Brady made a sour face as they stepped into the house. "Yeah, kinda figured that much."

"Rasalas. Thank Merlin," Sirius practically whispered, enveloping Rasalas in a tight hug.

"Sirius, I'm fine."

"All right. So for the next while, we'd like it if you stick close to the residence," said Auror Jackson.

"I'm going to make an even better suggestion," said Sirius, "One of the properties we own is a private island in the Caribbean sea. You probably don't remember, Rasalas, but last year I sent correspondence with a rather colourful bird, rather than through an owl."

"You own a private island," Brady deadpanned.

"Rather than be under virtual house-arrest here, I'm inviting all of you to spend the holiday in a warm place that will also be under the protection of rather formidable wards, equal to those erected here."

"What sort of access list does it have?"

"Come on, Auror Jackson, our family is a secretive, suspicious lot. What do you think would be involved?"

Auror Jackson gave a stiff nod. The Black family had a reputation, even on this side of the Atlantic. It was a safe bet blood wards were involved, if not the Fidelius charm. If Black had wintered there the previous year, without Magical Law-enforcement in the area being aware... they would be more than safe. Still...

"Our ministry will want at least a few of us to go with you."

"And such protection is welcome," said Sirius.

"When will we be going?" Rasalas questioned.

"Likely Sunday. I'll need a bit of time to make sure we have what we'll need, likely I'll need to summon Kreacher and have him tidy the place up."

"Kreacher?"

"A house elf. You've met him before, but likely don't remember. And it's probably best you don't. He's never liked me all that much, and really, doesn't like people in general all that much. I'll try and make sure he's not there when we arrive."

"Could... what... how hard would it be if Brady's family were invited?" Rasalas asked, "I mean... it's our world that's messing up his Christmas. And really, it's not fair that I get to be with family and he doesn't." It all came out in a rush, afraid Sirius would cut him off and say 'no' before hearing reason.

Sirius only gave a nod.

"If Mr. Gibson would like that, I think we can accommodate a few more people."

"How magical is your island, Mr. Black?"

"Enough that Mr. Gibson's family will need to know. I think they should be aware as it is, given the seriousness of what's going on," Sirius answered, "With Death Eaters showing up on this side of the Atlantic, specifically in an area close to where he lives, that can't be a coincidence."

"The government won't like it, but I do have to agree," said Auror Jackson.

At dinner, Sirius repeated his plan for the holiday. Phil and Casey easily accepted the invitation, while Ryan was excited.

"Spending Yule somewhere w-w-w-warm... that's gonna be awesome!"

"What's the water like?" Aaron asked.

"Pretty warm," Sirius answered, "So yes, bring something to swim in."

Though Ryan made no comment, Casey pursed her lips.

"Mr. Watson, your parents will be all right with you coming along?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine. My parents... they're indifferent toward me, I guess that's the best way to put it. I mean, I've been home three or four days since the start of school. So me going with Ryan, they really won't care."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, hearing this. What sort of bizarre home life did he have, then?

Almost sensing the question, Aaron said, "My mom and dad are too busy with their careers than worrying about me. I dunno if you heard the expression, 'latchkey kid', but... I'd be home alone after school until six or seven at night back in grade school.

"Y'know, it's like... sometimes, I felt like I was an afterthought... or worse. I was raised by my friends' parents more than my own. And when I met Ryan a couple of years ago... I feel like this is my real family."

"Much like Bill's family stood in for my godson's family on a number of occasions," said Sirius.

"Though I only know of them third-hand, I'd like to send them something," said Rasalas, "And their youngest boy... he's supposed to be my best friend... how do I tell him I don't remember him?"

"You be straight up with him," said Aaron, "If he's really your friend, he'll understand, right?"

"If he doesn't... he's n-n-not much of a friend."

Rasalas gave a slow nod. "I guess it's one of the things that's really stopped me from writing to him."

* * *

><p><em>Late hours, December 17<em>

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. The day had been spent preparing for the trip to Black Island, with the Sawyers deciding what they would need while they were there. Of course it was also made clear that, if they needed to, they could easily be brought back to the house. After all, Wizarding travel was rather convenient.

Rasalas, too, had been busy, helping to pack a number of things, and taking the opportunity to show Ryan a few more spells that were related. So it was, he had lay down, content to listen to Brady as he was once again working on new material. There was something about his voice that Rasalas found enthralling, for lack of a better word. There was little doubt, Brady could probably get Rasalas to do anything.

_Rasalas found himself aloft on his broom, chasing a golden ball that had wings. Faster and faster he went, with the little spherical object keeping just out of his reach, the wind roaring in his ears as he tried to keep pace... a steep dive and..._

_The dream changed..._

_His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone... he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly... it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours... he was turning his head... at first glance the corridor was empty... but no... a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark..._

_Rasalas put out his tongue... he tasted the man's scent on the air... he was alive but drowsy... sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor..._

_Rasalas longed to bite the man... but he must master the impulse... he had more important work to do..._

_But the man was stirring... a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Rasalas saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt... he had no choice... he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood..._

_The man was yelling in pain... then he fell silent... he slumped backwards against the wall... blood was splattering onto the floor...(2)_

"Rasalas!?"

Someone was shaking him roughly.

Rasalas sat up abruptly, his heart pounding with such force it threatened to burst from his chest, and pain in his scar such that it was as if a firebrand were being jabbed into it.

"Rasalas..."

Rasalas focused on the speaker. It was Brady, who looked alarmed. 'Get a grip, Black!' he shouted in his mind. No sense in talking gibberish. Need Sirius. Now.

"I... attack... someone... I just seen someone... SIRIUS!"

A loud thump came from one of the rooms, heavy footsteps came in the corridor, and the door flew open, revealing his startled godfather, wand in hand.

"Sirius! I... I dunno... someone was attacked... ministry I think... snake... who... black door...Mr. Weasley..."

"Woah, kiddo, slow down," said Sirius, stowing his wand. "Mr. Gibson, go get him some water."

Brady got up and left the room, and Sirius sat down beside Rasalas.

"Slowly. What happened?"

"I... Mr. Weasley... he was bitten. A lot of blood!" Rasalas answered, still panicked.

Sirius furrowed his brows. "Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?"

"NO! I mean, YES! It... it wasn't just a dream! I was there, I saw it... I... I _did_ it!"

"You were sleepin', Ras," said Brady, as he stepped back into the room bringing a glass of water. Rasalas took it, and drank greedily. His scar was still practically burning, but his heart wasn't racing quite as much.

"No, believe me... I... I was there... somehow, I was there! I..."

A strong bout of vertigo was all the warning he got, before he retched, heaving the contents of his stomach on the floor. Brady had to leap out of the way to avoid having his boots covered in the mess.

Brady snatched up the box of tissues on a nearby dresser and tossed it over, while Sirius drew his wand and vanished the mess.

"Th-thank you," Rasalas whispered, and wiped his face with one of the tissues.

"Now you're sure it was Mr. Weasley?"

"Yeah... p-positive. Brady... cabinet... stomach-calming draught, please."

Brady opened the small cabinet over Rasalas' dresser, and pulled out one of the numerous vials that were stocked, and passed it over. Rasalas downed it in one go, forcing down the urge to vomit again. He wiped his mouth.

"It was a huge snake. Mr. Weasley... he was bleeding terribly. The snake bit him... three times."

Sirius again furrowed his brows, but gave a nod. "I'll warn the Order at once. Arthur was part of the detail put in place by the Order to keep an eye on something in the Ministry. I'll be a few minutes. You lay back down... and Mr. Gibson, get him a calming draught."

Rasalas watched Sirius leave. How had it... why...

"You really seen someone attacked in your sleep?" Brady asked, quietly. He pulled a chair over from his side of the room, and sat down.

"Yeah. I... I'm scared, Brady. This... this isn't normal. Not even for a wizard!"

"No shit."

Though the door was open, Ryan knocked before he and Aaron stepped into the room.

"What happened?"

"Mr. Weasley... I just saw him attacked... I dunno how to explain it... except that... it was like I was the snake... this enormous snake. And this is near-killing me," said Rasalas, pointing to the scar on his forehead. Only now did the others get a good look at it. It looked almost fresh, raw and red.

"You're sayin' you were the snake," said Brady. He frowned at the thought.

"Yes! It was like... I experienced the attack from the snake's perspective."

"That can't be a good thing."

"Yeah, no shit," said Aaron, "Dude... you need to talk to someone. A doctor."

Rasalas looked furious. "I'm not loopy!"

"I'm not saying you are, but... God... being able to see shit from someone else's view point... never mind a snake's... that's beyond weird."

Rasalas blew out a breath. Aaron was absolutely right. The strange dream of the corridor... experiencing emotions that weren't his own... and now this. He needed to speak with a healer. Last thing he needed was to become a danger, somehow being possessed by someone. Far worse, he had a growing suspicion of the source of the problem.

Sirius returned a few minutes later.

"You were right, but he was found in the nick of time. They've taken him to St. Mungo's Hospital in London. Dumbledore's sent the rest of the family to my place, but if you don't mind being surrounded by a few more guests, I would like to move them to the island for the holiday."

"Yeah, of course." Rasalas felt... numb inside. Sure, they'd gotten to him, but... it was surreal. Why was he seeing such things? "I... this isn't the first time I've experienced something... weird."

"How do you mean?"

"That black door... I've been dreaming about it," Rasalas explained. "It's been getting more and more frequent until tonight. And... there was a time I felt this sudden surge of anger, for no reason. The emotion I felt... it wasn't mine."

"Seriously. Dude. You need to see a doctor—" Aaron began.

"Agreed," said Sirius, "Though in our world, it's a mind-healer. He or she will be able to make better sense of what might be going on. And I'm going to have a word with Dumbledore. We do still play for the same team, Rasalas."

Rasalas huffed. "Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

"Don't worry, kiddo. We'll get to the bottom of it. I promise."

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Everyone travels to the Blacks' island in the Caribbean, where they are joined by Hermione, the Weasleys, and Brady's immediate family; and Brady's brother reacts badly to Kreacher's behaviour, resulting in Rasalas setting a few matters straight with the elf...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: It's only natural that since we are dealing with what would have been Harry's fifth year, that a number of events from "Order of the Phoenix" take place as in canon. I had debated about having Mr. Weasley actually end up dying from the attack, given Harry's not at the school. However, since they do have a floo connection, and with Sirius being present, it wouldn't make that much difference in the end._

_(1) "The West Wing", season 4, episodes 14 – 17. A reminder that the time line for the show has been adjusted to replace the Bush administration completely, so here it's late in the first year of Bartlet's second term in office._

_(2) Taken from Pg. 408 – 409, "Order of the Phoenix", Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	13. Bittersweet Reunion

_Posted December 9, 2014  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __Everyone travels to the Blacks' island in the Caribbean, where they are joined by Hermione, the Weasleys, and Brady's immediate family; and Brady's brother reacts badly to Kreacher's behaviour, resulting in Rasalas setting a few matters straight with the elf..._

* * *

><p><strong>113. BITTERSWEET REUNION<br>December, 2005**

"_Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing."_

_- Jennifer Armentrout_

* * *

><p><em>December 18<em>

Just before sunrise, Sirius fashioned a port key that carried them to a small, uncharted island a little west of Navassa Island in the Caribbean. Phil had left the shop in the care of the senior supervisor, though it was only for a few days, as the entire staff would be on holiday come Tuesday afternoon, with the business not opening again until the second week of January.

The port key dropped them on an expanse of beach that faced east. Rasalas had still not mastered the art of port key travel, and scowled at his friend, who'd remained on his feet this time. Brady only grinned as he offered a hand.

"I got good balance," he said, at the unanswered question.

Ryan and Aaron, meanwhile, were helping Phil and Casey back to their feet.

"Goodness," said Casey, as she looked around, "This is beautiful."

"It's been in the family for a couple of centuries. The story goes, that we won the property in a high-stakes card game," said Sirius. "Last member of the family to use it before me was my grandfather. My parents were more content to remain in that dungeon we own back in London."

Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Dungeon?"

"It's a fitting description," said Sirius, "Kreacher has no interest in its upkeep... driven mad with my dear old mother's rubbish. All right. Follow me and I'll show you to the manor."

He wasn't kidding. To Brady, it could have easily been uprooted from a plantation in Georgia or the Carolinas. The two-storey house was white with a hip-roof covered in slate-grey shingles. It had large windows, and a verandah that stretched along its length, supported with large round columns. There appeared to be at least four chimneys, at least one at each end.

The house was set back a fair way from the beach, a few minutes' walk, if he had to guess. The lawn was lush and green, with a copse of hardwood and tropical trees directly to the south. If he was unsure of the depth of the Blacks' financial clout, this removed all doubt.

The inside easily matched the outside as far as decor went. The foyer was two storeys high, with a sweeping staircase leading to the upper floor. A fireplace was set along the back wall, with a fire blazing in the grate.

"The fireplace is connected to the floo network, but as it stands there's a blanket exclusion, and it's been that way for some time. My family's a suspicious lot, and we've had many enemies. Come into the dining room."

The dining room featured a table that could sit twenty people. Sirius waited for everyone to get comfortable.

"The property wards extend ten miles out to sea in all directions. That's really only something you need to keep in mind if you're flying," Sirius began. "There are twelve bedrooms, and you'll find they're more than spacious considering what you might be used to up to this point. Be careful of using anything electric or electronic, the ambient magic here may interfere with it. I think you may be all right on the beach, but in the house it may be risky."

"Crap. My laptop's out of the question then," said Aaron.

"So there's no electricity here then," Phil guessed.

"No. The house was built maybe two centuries ago, and given my family's opinion toward Muggle technology..."

"Running water?" Casey asked.

"Yes, we do have that," Sirius answered, "Both hot and cold if you're wondering. The plumbing is purely magical."

"What about lights?" Brady asked.

"Gas lamps, though that's also magical."

"It's a beautiful home, Mr. Black," said Casey, "Though I'm surprised you don't spend more time here. If this were mine, I would have a difficult time returning to Ontario."

"Mrs. Sawyer, you and your family are most certainly welcome to make yourselves at home here."

"How strong are the wards here?" questioned Auror Jackson.

"Blood-based. No port keys in or out, unless they've been made by either myself or Rasalas—once he learns how. No apparition, except for myself, or, Rasalas, once he learns how. Intent-based detection that will mete out retaliation equal to the threat."

"So someone comes in here wantin' to kill, they'll die," Brady guessed.

Sirius nodded grimly. "Exactly. And before you ask, yes, if someone comes onto the property and causes trouble here, we have the right to do whatever we want with them without fear of prosecution. For reference, we're governed by Haitian magical law here. They tend to take personal security rather seriously, as in, 'attack someone or their property at your peril.'

"Thing being, we won't be letting people in if there's even a hint they may cause a problem. The whole point of coming here is to escape from the threats we're facing back in Ontario."

Sirius reached into his jacket pocket, and produced a pair tennis balls.

"Auror Jackson, these are port keys that will take you back to the Sawyer residence, and a return port key here. I expect you'll want to bring extra protection detail."

"Yes. And I will need to update my department head on what's happening. Where is 'here' exactly?"

"For now, I'd rather keep that bit quiet. We're somewhere in the Caribbean, for reference," Sirius answered.

"All right. The department head's not going to like the answer, but you do have the right to privacy and security. I'll return in an hour or two. Uh... the activation phrases?"

"The first one is eight-seven-six, the return is one-two-three."

Auror Jackson furrowed his brow, but activated the port key, and vanished.

"Not all that original, Padfoot," Rasalas snickered.

Sirius shrugged. "Not a priority to be clever. All right. Let's get everyone settled, and you lot can then help decorate for Christmas."

* * *

><p>It was December 20 before Brady's mother and brother were brought to the island. Brady travelled back to Georgia with Sirius and Auror Jackson, so they could explain what was truly going on. Sirius was smart to take along a few calming draughts, which were most certainly required. Brady's brother took the news better than their mother did, and it took the pair of them to get her calmed down enough to take the offered calming draught.<p>

When they arrived by port key at the house, Brady made the introductions quickly, with the distraction helping to further settle his mother down.

"Uh... this here's my brother Corey, 'an my mom, Betty."

It spawned a round of handshakes, as everyone introduced themselves. Corey was easily a head taller than his brother, but if Rasalas had to guess, he was a few years younger. He shared many of Brady's features, other than his face being a little more broad. He was also a little stockier, and it was all muscle.

Casey, meanwhile, could immediately tell that Betty was struggling with what was going on.

"Mrs. Gibson, why don't you come with me, and we'll fix some tea," she coaxed. Betty still looked bewildered, but followed Ryan's mother into the manor, with Phil following close behind.

"So, uh... this magic shit... it's all for real," Corey questioned. "I mean, uh... my brother's been known to pull shit, y'know, 'an all that."

Rasalas resisted the urge to grin. Corey sounded almost identical to his brother.

"How did you arrive here?" Rasalas challenged.

"It was weird, know that much."

Rasalas produced his wand, and smirked.

"_Rictumsempra_," he whispered, flicking his wand at Ryan. It was instant, as the ginger-haired boy collapsed to the lawn, feeling his body crawling with... something. God, oh God it tickled something fierce, he was crying he was laughing so hard.

Rasalas only kept the jinx on him a few seconds, before releasing it.

"Y'know... p-p-payback's a b-b-b-bitch," Ryan wheezed, as Aaron helped him back to his feet.

"I could vanish your clothes."

"No, dude. It'll scare the newcomers," Aaron smirked.

Corey, meanwhile, still looked doubtful.

"Jus' trust 'im," said Brady, "This shit's for real."

"And as we have already explained, your brother has gotten the attention of a very dark wizard and his followers. Since you and your mother are his immediate family, it's only right you're offered the same sort of protection," said Sirius, "Even if it means you learning about our world."

"It likely would've happened anyway," said Rasalas, "Since Brady and I have become close friends."

Auror Jackson frowned. "You know what the ministry thinks of that, Mr. Black."

"How long you known 'bout this?" Corey asked his brother.

"After my concert at the Sawyers' place. Ras, summon Fawkes."

"Oh. Good thinking. Fawkes," he called out, to no one in particular.

There came a brilliant flash of golden flames a short distance away, and the crimson-coloured bird flamed into view, to then light on Rasalas' shoulder.

"Damn," said Corey, impressed, "What... what kind of bird is that?"

"A phoenix," said Sirius, "He used to belong to someone else, and I strongly suspect he took exception to being used to break the law. He's been with Rasalas since."

"Right. Since things are well, I'm returning to my patrol," said Auror Jackson. He headed off toward the northern end of the island.

"So those guys watchin' the house... they're magical cops," said Corey.

"Aurors, yeah," answered Rasalas.

"Thought they was from the Marshalls' office, by the way they's dressed. Had me wonderin' what Brady's got himself into, y'know."

"The worst sort," said Sirius, "They threaten both our world and yours alike. Voldemort would exterminate the Muggle world in its entirety if he could."

"With six billion of us? Good luck with that," Corey muttered. He was still fixated on Fawkes, perched on Rasalas' shoulder. "How dangerous?"

"Well... the dark wizard in question gave me this," said Rasalas, reaching up and pointing to the distinctive scar on his forehead.

"How long ago? Still looks fresh."

"When I was still a baby."

"That ain't right."

"Thing is, Mr. Gibson, the dark wizard, Voldemort... saw my godson as a threat. Which is why I'm now his guardian. His parents were murdered the night he received that scar. The point being made here, is that Voldemort will do truly unspeakable things—he's _done_ truly unspeakable things, to both witches and wizards, never mind Muggles. This is a man who equates to the boogey man of Muggle legend, except that he is very real."

"You guys need to make sure your mom knows about this," said Aaron, "I'm not magical either, and I know this is probably scaring the shit out of 'ya, and quite honestly it scares me sometimes... but family needs to stick together."

Corey gave a nod. "Yeah, well said. We'll take care of mom. Oh, uh, thanks for invitin' us to spend Christmas, really cool of ya'll."

"Come on then. I'll show you to a room," said Sirius.

* * *

><p>Before sunrise the following morning, Ryan woke Rasalas up, asking if he wanted to join them for their ritual to welcome the winter solstice. Rasalas once again declined, still not comfortable with intruding on what was a private family gathering.<p>

As it stood, Rasalas wasn't even sure of what he believed in. The Sawyers practised the old religion—though Rasalas still wasn't sure what that exactly meant. And the Weasleys, while they celebrated Christmas... he wasn't sure what they believed in either, come to think of it. The Gibsons, meanwhile, were most certainly Christian. Brady wanted him to attend church with him, but just like with the Sawyers, Rasalas had declined.

Just after lunch, Sirius fashioned a port key, and disappeared, returning to the ancestral townhouse in London. Mr. Weasley was well enough to be released from the hospital, and so the family could then be brought to the island. Unlike the townhouse back in London—or the Sawyers' place back in Ontario, for that matter, the manor had more than enough room for everyone, so no sharing was necessary (other than the case of Phil and Casey, for obvious reasons).

Of course, Rasalas definitely missed having a roommate. It was just weird, being completely alone. Sure, he'd had his own room up until Sirius had joined them, but over a month had passed since. He knew he needed to get used to it. Once the house was built, there would be more than enough room—never mind the fact that it was likely they would be staying on the island for the rest of the winter. The Sawyers would probably like to have their privacy back.

Rasalas realized that Brady was likely going to be around for the long-term—months, or years, more likely. There were still so many questions, so many unknowns surrounding the Dark Lord, and somehow, Rasalas knew it fell to his shoulders to eventually deal with him once and for all. Until that happened, his friends, old and new, would be in great danger.

A blur of limbs out on the lawn drew Rasalas out of his thoughts. The Weasleys had arrived with Sirius. He recognized all of them almost immediately, as he crossed the distance from the house to their arrival point. Mrs. Weasley was a short, plump woman with a kind face. She spotted Rasalas, and it was instant recognition.

"Harry, dear..."

"Rasalas," he corrected her, but still let her seize him in a near-bone-crushing hug. She then held him at arms' length. He was taller, and looked somewhat as Sirius had when he was just out of Hogwarts... if Mrs. Weasley remembered correctly. He had no hair, but wore a flat cap that cast a shadow over his eyes. He was wearing a pair of Muggle trousers that were hacked off above the knees, and a tank top that had a strange pattern of black, grey, and white splotches all over it. He wore only a pair of sandals on his feet, and it was evident he'd spent a few days in the sun.

"Good grief, Sirius wasn't kidding about you going through a few changes."

"It's true then? You don't remember us, 'cept what you've been told?"

Was that Fred, or George? The pair were identical in every way. They supported their father between them, who looked rather green after the port key trip—though his condition steadily improved with each passing second.

"I'm sorry, the lot of you... I don't. Only by pensieve memory do I even have a clue who you are. I know you guys have looked after me in the past, and if it wasn't said before, thanks. I feel bad that—"

"Harry—Rasalas, we understand, son," said Mr. Weasley, "It seems I have you to thank for saving my life a few days ago."

"It was, sir. As... startling as it was, I'm glad I was able to help."

"Well, come on. Let's get Arthur inside and comfortable. There's been a room made up for you."

"Harry, mate..."

"Ron. I... I guess I've known for a couple of months about... where's Hermione?"

"I'll be picking her up from her parents in an hour or so," said Sirius, as they crossed the lawn.

"I know we were really close friends."

"We saved Hermione from a troll back in first year."

"Oh. Really?"

"Blimey, you really don't remember?"

"I wish I could, but I don't."

"What happened to you? I mean, _why_ don't you remember?" Ginny, Rasalas remembered.

"I... someone attacked me one night back at the beginning of September. I nearly died... and I guess one of the consequences, is that my memory's been badly damaged. I remember bits and pieces now and then, but... I can't remember much of anything that happened to me prior to me waking up in the hospital.

"Worse, I have knowledge of things... like how to cast spells, but I don't remember how I know. Maybe it's like riding a bicycle or something."

Rasalas gave a shrug.

"But people I know, stuff that's happened to me... I don't remember. Or what I do know, such as... about you guys... it's only because Sirius has shown me stuff in a pensieve, or I've been able to read back copies of the newspaper."

"Albus was in a right state when you fled the country," said Arthur, "Sent us all searching high and low. It was only when he got hold of the letter you sent Sirius."

"As we discovered at the beginning of November. The man had the nerve to show up where I've been staying. The headmaster broke the law in doing so... breaking the statute of secrecy, all in the name of dragging me back to England with him."

"It's a bit of a sore spot with Rasalas," said Sirius, "And to be clear, he still has no intention of returning to England any time soon."

"What I need, is for people to respect my choices, realize that I'm not a chess piece. I'm a nearly-grown wizard, not some child—from the sketchy knowledge of my past home life, I never have been."

"You've changed, mate."

"And I think we can understand why, Ronald," said Mr. Weasley, as they stepped into the manor.

"Just... realize, I'm not the person you remember. Though... I would like to know more of what... well... I know I've stayed at your house at least twice... and there's loads of other memories... help me fill in the blanks... if that makes sense."

"We'll need a pensieve for that, but I would love to help you," Mr. Weasley offered.

Once Mrs. Weasley and her husband were settled in the room made up for them, rooms were then assigned for the others. Fred and George claimed a room together, while Ron and Ginny then chose separate rooms.

Rasalas decided to have Ron close when Sirius once again appeared, bringing Hermione. For the second time that day, he found himself in a vice-like hug, and she too then held her old friend at arm's length.

"Harry... God, you really changed."

Rasalas gave a lopsided grin. "We have a lot of things to catch up on, eh?"

"We're going to have to tell him everything, Hermione. He doesn't remember any of it."

"Sirius warned me already. What did the Muggle doctors tell you?"

"Retrograde amnesia."

"I've read about that. How did you hurt yourself?"

"I was attacked at the beginning of September. Come on, I want you guys to meet someone," said Rasalas, leading them back toward the house. A quick glance up at the verandah confirmed his query was still up there, along with his brother.

"Where have you been staying?"

"At a new friend's place. They're here as well, though... not sure where they've got off to. Just come with me."

"God, this place belongs to Sirius?"

"We could've been here rather than that dingy dungeon back in London," Ron lamented, as they walked into the enormous foyer. "No endless bouts of cleaning back in the summer... no boggarts to drive mum half spare... it was like waging war on the house! Never mind that loathsome house elf."

"Ronald! He's not well in the head," Hermione protested, as they climbed the stairs.

"I don't remember the townhouse, and after meeting Kreacher, I know what you mean. Nearly cursed him for the nasty things he said to one of my new friends. Don't give him excuses, Hermione."

They crossed the landing, and he stopped in front of one of the doors. Faint voices could be heard inside. He pushed the door open.

"Right. So this is my room."

"Blimey, this is like Sirius' room back at the townhouse."

"It was at one time, so he says."

A four-poster queen-sized bed rested along the wall to the left, with end tables on either side. The coverings were mostly red, with gold trim. A large drawing table was set up against one of the large windows, and it was covered in papers and journals. A guitar rested in a cradle next to it. The windows were both open, as were a set of double doors that led out onto the verandah. The pair of voices belonged to two men sitting in comfortable chairs outside.

"Forgive the mess, it isn't mine. One of my new friends writes songs, so that stuff belongs to him," Rasalas grinned, leading them out the set of double doors and onto the verandah.

"Good grief, Harry..." said Hermione, now getting a good look at the grounds. Ron, meanwhile, was momentarily fixated on the two strangers who had most definitely noticed their arrival.

Rasalas could only grin. "Right. Err... Hermione, Ron, this is Brady, and his brother Corey."

"A pleasure," said Hermione.

"Err... likewise."

"You're Ras' old friends. Thought you'd be older," said Brady, as they shook hands.

"Long story," said Rasalas, "But we used to go to Hogwarts together."

"Until he was expelled," said Ron, "Good on 'ya getting that reversed. The _Prophet_ had a field day."

"I know. I saw it, as did my solicitor."

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned a few extra chairs from further down the verandah.

"Hope we're not interrupting."

"Nah, not really," said Corey, "Jus' catchin' up."

"As we'll be doing," said Rasalas, "I mean it guys. I need to know everything... every detail about what we did together."

"Like the troll incident," said Ron.

"Trolls. There's trolls in your world," Corey deadpanned.

"Harry, do you have a copy of 'Fantastic Beasts'?"

"Yeah, of course."

"You should show them," Hermione continued, "I gather you both have been told about the magical world."

"Yeah, big shock, gotta admit," said Brady, "Still gettin' used to it. My little bro here learned about it a couple days ago."

"Mom's not taking it well," said Corey, "Stuff's still freakin' her out."

"It's not normal for Muggles to learn about our world... does the ministry here know?"

"Aurors helped gettin' us here," said Brady, "'an Sirius."

"Yeah, considering he had to. No one comes here without him escorting them. The floo's on call only, no travel allowed. Security's really tight," Rasalas explained. "So no visits from Death Eaters or old farts who think they have a right to stick their nose in my business."

That got a laugh out of both Brady and his brother.

"Keep sayin' to Ras, just shoot his ass."

Rasalas only rolled his eyes, as he took a seat beside Brady. Brady, meanwhile, noticed something odd on the back of Ron's left hand.

"What did that?"

Ron pulled it away. "It's nothing."

But Rasalas had seen it as well, and so also grabbed it.

"Who is responsible?"

"Harry... it's nothing," Ron persisted, dropping into a vacant seat.

"No, Ron, it ain't _nothing_," Rasalas hissed, "There's only one thing I know of that can cause that sort of scar. It's a blood quill, in case you're wondering—I've seen Sirius have to use it on a few occasions. So who's making you write with something that outside a few very specific circumstances, is considered an instrument of torture?"

"It's Delores Umbridge... our Dark Arts Defence professor," Hermione supplied.

"Oh. You mean that pathetic witch who's trying to take over the school," said Rasalas, nastily, "I'm well aware of her. As much as I have a hate-on for Dumbledore right now, at least he's not turning the school into a concentration camp."

Ron was confused. "A what?"

"I won't get into it. But you guys are living in a prison, rather than a school. Am I right?"

"Spot on, yeah," Ron agreed. "The teachers are scared of her I reckon, no one's wanting to speak up, fearing they'll end up sacked."

"Sacked?" Corey asked.

"Fired," Rasalas clarified. "But seriously. If she's using a blood quill on people—never mind minors... there's more than a few people that will have a few things to say about it."

"But the ministry..." Hermione began.

"There's only one legal use for a blood quill: the signing of official documents—magically-binding contracts for example. Outside of that, they're classified as a dark object. Sirius explained it to me one day. I mean, the immediate consequences are evident... never mind the long-term mental effects. Is she using it on fifth year students? Or lesser?"

"I think she's used them on third-years," said Ron.

"I'll need to fire-call my solicitor."

"Harry... it's..."

"Don't say it's nothing, Hermione! Just what I'm reading in the newspaper paints her to be a horrible woman... this..." Rasalas indicated the nasty scar on the back of Ron's hand, "Proves she's nothing less than a monster that I will see _destroyed_, one way or another. No one comes after my friends without suffering consequences."

"Woah, mate, you've really changed," said Ron.

Hermione also couldn't help but notice the change. Gone was the young wizard who would 'go it alone', only ask for help when it was the last possible recourse. In his place was a man. Someone who would reach out and take advantage of resources available to him. A future leader.

"I didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter, now, did I? What I went through in September... I guess the silver lining in it, is that I've been able to reinvent myself. It's one of the things my solicitor's told me. And Brady here... he's been nothing but a great friend. He... or... his tour bus, they found me on the side of the highway."

"He saved your life," Hermione realized.

"Exactly."

"I... well... thank you. Harry means a lot to many people, and not just the 'boy-who-lived' rubbish," said Hermione.

"What's a tour bus?" Ron asked.

"Uh... it's complicated, Ron. But... a bus is a non-magical vehicle that can carry many people. Brady's is customized to be like a home on wheels."

"Oh. I think I get it. Something like dad's car."

"Bigger, and leave out the flying bit," Rasalas grinned.

"But makin' it fly would be cool," Brady threw in.

Ron grinned, while Rasalas rolled his eyes. "Quiet, you're new here."

The five of them ended up having dinner on the verandah. Sirius had appeared just before sunset, and a small table was set up, and a little while later, a service appeared all on its own, with plates and drinks for everyone.

"Y'know," Corey said, "I could get used to this magic thing."

"'ya better... I'm guessin' we'll be here a while... and Ras still ain't been home," said Brady, as he refilled his glass. Rather than sending up bottles of beer, a pitcher had been provided.

"Where is home for you?" Hermione asked.

"Georgia, miss," Corey answered.

"Oh. I... that would explain the accent."

"Yeah... it is a bit different," Ron agreed.

Brady gave a shrug. "Don't know any other way."

"No, different is hearing Hagrid," said Ron, "You need to see it to believe it."

"A pensieve would be handy, but... we don't have one," said Rasalas. "But yeah, Hagrid's rather... unique. Gentle man though. I'll have a few questions for him next time we meet. I know he was responsible for taking me to my magic-hating relatives."

"Harry, it's not his fault," said Hermione.

"No, he likely only made some bad choices in following someone blindly. If he wishes to remain a friend, he'll need to stop following a moron. And that will go for a number of others who say they're in my corner, but still think Dumbledore's word is the end all and the be all. The man's a criminal, at least according to Canadian law. That has to say something."

Rasalas finished the last bit of food remaining on the plate, and when he set his cutlery down, the plate vanished. Just then, Ryan and Aaron stepped out onto the verandah from several doors down. Seeing the gathering, they joined them.

"Still n-n-not done? We can come back in a bit."

"No, it's cool. Uh... you'll need to locate some more chairs though."

"Down that way," said Aaron, pointing to the far end.

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned two more chairs.

"Now. Err... guys, this is Ryan, and his boyfriend, Aaron. Ryan, Aaron, my two oldest friends, Ron and Hermione."

"G-g-good to meet you," said Ryan, as they shook hands.

"Between three mothers... we were all chased out of the dining room soon as the meal was done," said Aaron. "I'm thinking Christmas is gonna be nuts."

"If your Ma's anything like m-mine, Ron..."

"Cooking? Oh yeah, she goes overboard sometimes," Ron admitted.

Ryan grinned. "Thinkin' this m-m-might be the best Yule yet."

"Yule. Then you don't celebrate Christmas," said Hermione.

"No, we do. J-j-just, we also mark the winter solstice. There's a b-b-big fat candle on the table downstairs that we used."

"It was really awesome. I could feel the surge of energy this year, much stronger than last year... or the year before," Aaron admitted. "It was like... a surge of warmth racing from my feet to my head, and back again. It was just as the sun breached the horizon."

"Ma s-s-says it was the earth's own magic... the Goddess herself. We were all b-b-blessed by the sun's return."

Both Brady and Corey remained quiet, choosing not to comment. If that was their religion, then so be it, but both brothers were more than content with their faith.

"Right," said Rasalas, "So one thing you guys need to know about Ryan here, is that he's only recently learned he was a wizard."

"Really? You didn't get a letter when you were eleven?" Hermione asked.

Ryan only held up his arm, showing the terrible burn scar on his right forearm. "I nearly d-d-died from this. The wand maker in Toronto says it was my m-m-m-magic that saved my life."

Now both Ron and Hermione understood.

"So Harry's been teaching you about our world then," Hermione guessed.

"Slowly, but y-yeah. Ras has been an awesome teacher."

"Hold on a tic," Corey finally interjected, "Why you guys keep callin' him 'Harry'?"

"Because that used to be my name," Rasalas answered, "I adopted a new name back in August, which is legally binding. These guys can get away with still calling my 'Harry', because that's how they've always known me. I mean, I could force them not to, but I won't.

"That kind of thing's reserved for enemies. Or people who only want to see me as the 'saviour of the wizarding world', or, 'the boy-who-lived', or some other rubbish, rather than see me for who I really am. Only friends can address me on a first-name basis, and only my closest, dearest friends and those I love can address me by my former name. To everyone else, it's Mr. Black."

Rasalas touched the hidden ring on his finger, making it temporarily visible.

"One day when Sirius passes on, I inherit his entire estate. But even as the named heir, I still have plenty of power to back up my words."

Just then, there was a noisy _pop_, and Kreacher appeared close to the table. By this point, everyone present had seen the house elf at least once.

"Blood traitors, Muggles, filth... invading my old master's villa..." he muttered, "Not worthy to be scraped from the bottom of a boot."

"Kreacher. Enough."

"Of course, little master," Kreacher croaked, bowing low, "He's not fit, he isn't," he again muttered under his breath, "Such vile vermin, Muggles—"

Corey had practically flew out of his seat, snatched Kreacher by the filthy pillow case he was wearing, and quite literally hurled him out over the bannister. The elf made an absolutely pathetic little screech, as he soared through the air, to land roughly half-way across the lawn.

For several moments, no one said a thing. Ron looked like he was trying to hold in a fart, while Hermione's eyes were about as wide as saucers. Corey, meanwhile, furrowed his brows.

"Had enough of his trash-talk. Little monster should be shot."

And that sent everyone off the deep end. Rasalas collapsed in a fit of laughter, as did Ryan and Aaron, with Brady following suit. Ron finally burst out laughing, leaving Hermione being the only one not seeing it funny.

"That... that was deplorable! Barbaric!" she finally protested.

"No, it was funny as hell," Rasalas laughed, "Maybe he'll think twice about bad-mouthing Muggles from here on out."

"But..."

"But nothing. Never mind should Sirius find out. We're still debating about giving him clothes, y'know."

"Looks like he needs some anyway. Feels like I'm needin' a shower 'an I only touched him a second," said Corey.

"No, no, no... you guys don't get it," said Rasalas, "Giving clothes to a house elf is like firing them."

"Oh. Even better," said Corey.

"Thing is, he knows a lot of secrets about the Order of the Phoenix... this from Sirius. So letting him go could have dangerous consequences, particularly if he goes to the Malfoys," Rasalas explained.

"Then just shoot 'im," said Brady, "Little monster's a good description."

"It's barbaric!" Hermione protested again.

"And insulting my friends isn't winning him any points. KREACHER!"

_CRACK_! The house elf was in front of them again, but he all but hissed at Corey.

"Shut up!" Rasalas snarled, revealing the heir ring, "You ever insult my friends again, I will order you to drown yourself in a pool of piranha. That includes using the phrase 'blood-traitor', 'mudblood', or any word or phrases I might declare forbidden in the future. Is this instruction in any way unclear?"

"Of course, young master," Kreacher croaked, bowing so low his nose was nearly touching the floor.

"If any of the occupants of this house should ask you to do something, you will follow that instruction to the letter, as though either I myself, or Sirius had given that order. You will not degrade the occupants of this house in any way, shape, or form... nor shall you complain about your 'dear old mother'. EVER. AGAIN. Is that instruction in any way unclear?"

"No, master."

"Good. Now you can carry on clearing our dishes, as you were likely ordered. You will do it quietly and without comment."

Kreacher bowed low again, and with a snap of his fingers, the dishes on the table vanished. The house elf immediately followed, with an equally noisy _CRACK_.

Now Hermione looked somewhere between shocked and traumatized. She finally got to her feet, and unsteadily made her way back into the manor.

"Uh... I need to..." Ron stammered.

"Yeah, of course," said Rasalas.

Ron stood up, and followed Hermione.

"What's wrong with him anyway?" Aaron finally dared ask.

"Sirius says it's because he's been mistreated for so long. Kreacher's been in the family a long time. He's never seen a whole lot of kindness.. never mind the backwards opinions of Sirius' family. They practically worshipped Voldemort."

"Then m-m-maybe you guys need to get rid of him, for real. What if he starts d-d-doing stuff for the other side?"

"It doesn't work that way, Ryan," Rasalas answered, "To directly attack someone here... the family magic would lash out against him... never mind the wards. Anyway. I'll say this. You gave me a nice, lovely memory to power my Patronus charm."

Knowing he would be asked, Rasalas produced his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_."

All four of his new friends were amazed by the enormous ghostly stag that materialized a short distance away. To Rasalas, it had been almost effortless, given the well of amazing, beautiful memories he'd collected in the short months since his accident.

"Damn... there's... six points, no?" Corey guessed, as the spectral animal nuzzled its nose against Rasalas' cheek.

"Five. I see five," said Brady, "Still is somethin'. What's it for?"

"A protector against several very dark creatures in my world. One of them is called a Dementor. I know I've faced them twice, but... I haven't seen memory of it. But they're very dangerous things."

Rasalas flicked his wand again, and the stag vanished. "What were you guys counting?"

"Number of points on the antlers," said Corey.

"Oh. You guys hunt, I guess."

"Yeah. We'll take 'ya when... whenever this bullshit's done," Brady promised.

"'an 'ya can't use magic... gotta do it the proper way," Corey threw in.

"Yeah, of course. That would be cheating, right?" Rasalas grinned.

Sometime later, Sirius approached them.

"What in the world did you do to Kreacher?"

"He's not complaining I hope."

"Oh no, nothing like that. But God oh God, I've never seen him cleaning with such vigour. He's not even muttering a word of complaint! So what did you do to him?"

"Corey threw him over the bannister here, and when he returned, I threatened to make him drown himself in a pool of piranha if he didn't smarten up."

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh.

"My dear old mother will be rolling over in her grave, I think. Good job, kiddo. And Mr. Gibson, I tip my hat to you. Batty old house elf might think twice before looking down his nose at Muggles again."

Rasalas let out a laugh. "He all but hissed at Corey when he came back up. He's now forbidden from using the word 'mudblood', or the phrase 'blood-traitor'. It'll drive him mental, but I don't think the Weasleys need to hear it, nor does Ryan here. And if there's anything else he shouldn't be saying, it can be added to the list."

"Good thinking. Seems like your hand might be a little more firm than mine... not that I'm complaining."

"If the Weasleys are going to be staying here... never mind Brady and his family... last thing any of them need is a demented house elf spewing hateful things. And quite frankly, 'I' don't need it either."

Rasalas thought of something.

"Did someone show Hermione to a room? I'll need to have a word with her about what happened earlier. I think she was horrified by what we did to Kreacher."

"I believe Ron did."

Rasalas let out a sigh and stood up. "There's an ugly conversation. But it needs to be done. One thing I know about Hermione. She's stubborn. When she latches onto something... she doesn't let go easily."

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Christmas is celebrated at Black Island; Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron then attend the New Years Eve celebration in Niagara Falls, with a most bizarre turn of events...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: Like in a number of my other stories, Ron and Hermione (or most of Harry's year mates for that matter) don't tend to have a lot of screen time, and for good reason. _

_He somewhat knows who they are, but now, really, he's been with Ryan and Aaron, who are 19 and 18 respectively, and Brady, who is 25. A different age group, never mind the fact that Sirius is also grooming him to be the new Lord Black. So his peer group has changed, as has his personality._


	14. Christmas, 2005

_Posted December 11, 2014._

_SUMMARY: __Christmas is celebrated at Black Island; Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron then attend the New Years Eve celebration in Niagara Falls, with a most bizarre turn of events..._

* * *

><p><strong>114. Christmas, 2005<br>December, 2005 – January, 2006**

"_Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas."_

_- Dale Evans_

* * *

><p><em>December 25<em>

Rasalas couldn't remember anything about his experiences of past Christmases. Ron had certainly filled him in on his stays back at Hogwarts, and the funny and amazing gifts he'd received in the past, but still... he couldn't remember anything first-hand. So, like so many other experiences of late, he treated it like a first, to enjoy the moment for what it was. It was the best he could do.

When he woke up, then, he found a pile of packages set at the foot of his bed. He pulled on a tee shirt, and snatched his wand up off the end table. He flicked it at the lamps, the gesture alone bringing them flaring to life, casting a soft light in the room. Now able to properly see, he turned his attention to the gifts.

The first one, turned out to be a home-knit jumper from Mrs. Weasley. It was emerald green, with a silver 'R' on the front. Rasalas put it on at once.

The next package was rather small, and when he opened it, there was a note, along with a chain with a strange amulet attached to it. 'Rasalas,' the note read, 'This is called a time-turner. Each turn of the hourglass will turn back time by one hour. Speak to me in private before using it, since there are a few other very important points that you must understand, since meddling with time can have grave consequences. And I must stress, don't tell many people you have it. It was very difficult to procure.'

Rasalas pulled the amulet and chain out of the box, and looked at it a little more closely. It was comprised of a small hoop. Inside it, was a second, smaller hoop, and inside of it, was what looked like a tiny hour glass. The entire setting appeared to be made of gold, save for the tiny hour glass and the sand inside it. A time-turner... so... time travel? But why would Sirius give it to him, if it were dangerous?

No matter, he put it around his neck. He had to smirk. What would Brady think, seeing the new piece of jewelry?

The next box was slightly heavy, and so he opened it carefully. The card indicated it was from Kate. 'To help you remember, but also organize your thoughts. Merry Christmas', the card read. A small, covered clay bowl rested inside, and Rasalas knew immediately what it was: a pensieve. Indeed, a very useful gift!

From Ryan and Aaron, he received a gift certificate for a clothing store he'd never heard of in Toronto, and the promise to take him shopping in the new year. Rasalas looked forward to it, since he didn't have all that much in terms of clothing. In the months at the Sawyers, it was one thing he'd somewhat neglected.

There were two more boxes remaining. One of them was heavy, and the card indicated it was from Phil and Casey. Inside, he found a notebook computer, much like Ryan's. A note on the top warned him: 'do not try and turn it on until we return to the house. And we will have one more gift for you at that time.'

The last box had a little weight to it as well, and just the handwriting on the card told him who it was from. Rasalas opened the box to find a leather vest identical to the one Brady owned, along with a pair of dark leather boots.

Now, he was torn. To put on his jacket, he would have to pull off the jumper Mrs. Weasley had given him. Nah. He liked the jumper, so it stayed on. He slid the vest on over top of it. The boots... they would likely look a little goofy with him wearing shorts, so he would have to try them later. For now... time to see if anyone else in the house was up.

Pulling the door open, his nose was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of breakfast. So, definitely not the first person up, and the sounds coming from the dining room gave further evidence to the fact.

Stepping into the dining room, Rasalas was nearly bowled over by a blur of brown hair.

"Happy Christmas!"

"Air... Hermione..."

They separated, but Rasalas grinned. "Happy Christmas."

He only had a chance to get another breath, before again being almost tackled, this time by a lanky ginger.

"Thanks for the broom!" said Ryan, as they separated, "I could kiss you."

Rasalas smirked. "Please do."

Ryan smirked right back, but planted a kiss on Rasalas' forehead. "Aaron m-might get jealous."

"Damn straight. Merry Christmas, Ras."

"And Merry Christmas to you."

Rasalas took a seat at the table, and began fixing himself a plate, only then noticing that none of the Gibsons had come down yet. It seemed like the rest of the adults were missing as well, though voices wafting from another room gave clue as to where they might be.

"Where's Brady?"

"Upstairs with his mum, I think, along with his brother. Mrs. Weasley did send up breakfast with Kreacher."

Rasalas frowned. "That probably went over well."

"Harry!"

"Our good friend..."

"Thanks a ton for the... investment! It's brilliant."

Rasalas craned his neck to see two identical faces peering down at him.

"Yeah, right brilliant o' brother of mine. We'll be able to get things moving months ahead of time."

"I know I gave you guys the money from the stupid tournament last spring... but since my estate's worth infinitely more, it was the right thing to do. The wizarding world needs to laugh now and then," said Rasalas. "Just promise me you won't spend it foolishly."

It was then Hermione noticed the gold chain and the hour glass dangling around Rasalas' neck.

"Harry, where did you get that?"

"Sirius gave it to me. You... you know what it is then."

"Of course! Harry, you don't—oh, of course you don't," said Hermione, catching her mistake. "But has anyone explained it to you... what it can do... the dangers of it?"

"Sirius wants to have a word with me about it, yeah. But when did we use one?"

"In third-year. We rescued Sirius, and saved Buckbeak—he's a Hippogriff."

"Sirius did mention something about a Hippogriff making a nest in his mother's bedroom back in the townhouse. Something about it being poetic. But either way... I guess I now understand why he might have given this to me."

"So what is it?" George questioned.

"We can't tell you," said Hermione, "It's something that's heavily regulated by the ministry. And Harry, I mean it. Don't use it until you speak with Sirius. And what ever you do, don't wear it out in public... at least not in any magical place. There are many people who will know exactly what it is... and will do just about anything to get their hands on it—that from Professor McGonagall."

She thought for a a moment, then said, "Thanks for the gift certificate. Though I'll probably have to use the owl order. Making a trip to Diagon Alley might not be possible right now."

"Well it doesn't have an expiry date. Forgive me for it not being all that personal, all I could remember, is that you love to read, so it's the best I could do."

"Harry! Don't worry about it," Hermione scolded him, "It's lovely."

"Tell me what you get with it, and we'll call it even."

"Thanks for the Bertie Botts Beans and the broom servicing kit," said Ron, "Mum wants to confiscate my Zonko's gift certificate though."

"Just warn her that if she does, I'll take you to Zonko's in person. They do have a store in Toronto. I think it might be bigger than the one in... Hogsmeade, is it?"

Ron grinned and nodded, then noticed Rasalas' sweater.

"Oh. Mum knitted you another Weasley jumper."

"Yeah. It's wicked."

Ron looked puzzled. "You like it?"

"Why wouldn't I? To receive a gift from someone, no matter how much or little it's worth... it means the world to me. I mean this..." Rasalas gestured to the time-turner, "Is worth no more to me than the sweater. I'm equally touched by the gesture."

It was then Mrs. Weasley framed the door.

"Come on into the great room so we can clean up the dining room," she said.

The great room was at the back of the manor, directly behind the main foyer. It too, was two storeys high, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large windows and a set of double doors let plenty of sunlight in. One wall featured a great fireplace, though the fire was rather small—and practically unnecessary, if only to provide atmosphere. After all, December in the tropics felt the same as July. In one corner rested a black baby-grand piano, and a few instrument cases were neatly stacked behind it.

The room was decorated for the season, including an enormous Christmas tree. The rest of the household had already gathered, and were talking amongst themselves.

"Seems I joined the wrong party," Rasalas joked, parking himself in one of the chairs.

"Not really," said Sirius, "You were just late. Shame on you for sleeping in on Christmas."

Rasalas shrugged. "Blame my absent memory, Padfoot. But Happy Christmas everyone. Thank you for the wonderful presents. As I have already said to Ron, I treasure each and every one of them. This is my first Christmas as far as memory goes."

"Yes, and we will need to have a chat about your... new piece of jewelry," said Sirius.

"Mum made you a jumper again?" asked Ginny. She had stayed relatively close to her father since they'd arrived at the manor.

"Yes, and I like it very much," Rasalas grinned, "Your mum's awesome."

"Mum does see you as an eighth child, Rasalas," said Bill, "I think mum would have made that permanent if she could have."

He indicated a parcel under the tree.

"That's for you. I meant to give it to Sirius last night so you'd have it with the rest, but..."

"Oh. Thank you."

Rasalas picked up the parcel, and pulled the wrapping off. It was a moderate-sized tome, titled 'The warder's guide to wards and spatial protection'.

"I thought you might find that interesting. Happy Christmas."

It was then that Brady entered the room, with Corey and their mother following.

"Merry Christmas, y'all."

"Likewise," said Rasalas, "Did... did you guys have any problems with Kreacher?"

"No. He was good, acted the perfect butler."

"Good. Good. Err... thank you for the vest and the boots... I haven't tried the boots yet."

"Come and sit... egg nog if you like," said Sirius, "Molly and Casey will be in shortly—though Kreacher is more than capable of handling the clean-up." The last bit was mostly said to himself.

"Mr. Black," said Betty, "I believe I haven't been that nice of a guest. Thank you for bringin' us here."

"I'm not offended, Mrs. Gibson. We all understand this may be difficult for you, dealing with strangers, not to mention our world as a whole. If you need anything, just let us know," said Sirius.

"The one thing I have to say is thank you, Mr. Black, for lookin' out for my boys."

"Family is everything, Mrs. Gibson, especially now," said Mr. Weasley, "Rasalas here might as well be an eighth son to us, and it's only because of him that I'm still alive."

"As it is because of Brady that I'm still alive," said Rasalas, "I owe him a debt I can never repay. So needless to say, I'll do just about anything to protect him—including protecting his family."

It was then that both Casey and Molly stepped into the room, with Molly floating a large platter with a tea service in front of her. Sirius drew his wand and floated the other service to a separate table, making room.

"There's coffee too, for those who don't like tea," said Casey, "Cookies and pastries if you like."

More than a few hands reached out for the sweets.

"Now. Mrs. Gibson, would you like to help us with Christmas Dinner?"

"I would love to."

"We would like for Kreacher to be elsewhere today, so an extra hand in the kitchen is welcome. Serving you breakfast this morning was his only duty," said Casey. "Sirius felt it was a necessary evil, forcing him to serve people he believes are beneath him."

"Seriously. He was on his best behaviour?"

"Didn't say a word. Kept givin' us death glares though," said Corey.

"We could ban him from doing that too," said Rasalas.

"Haven't you done enough to him already?" said Hermione, irritated. That was one issue she would never be okay with, no matter how much they discussed the matter.

Rasalas let out a sigh. "Let's just leave it be."

"Yes, indeed, such matters can be looked after some other day."

"Yeah, back to the presents," said George, indicating yet another parcel under the tree.

"Mum don't look," said Fred, while Rasalas was again kneeling at the tree, opening yet another parcel.

"We've been inventing like mad, these are some of our first products."

"We have an owl-order catalogue for now," said George.

"What are they?" asked Ryan.

"Mostly prank products."

"Oh not that nonsense again!" Molly lamented, "I've already burned enough of that rubbish as it is!"

"I think it's brilliant," said Rasalas. Seeing one labelled 'Canary Cream', he got a flash-memory of exactly what it did.

He smirked. "Brady. Here, try this."

Seeing the smirking twins, Brady was apprehensive, but... challenge accepted. "This kills me I'm comin' back from the dead an' kickin' your asses."

"Oh no, nothing fatal here," Fred promised, still smirking.

Brady shrugged, then bit into the offered confection. It was actually quite good. "So what's it do?"

"You'll see," George promised. Molly continued to give her twin sons death glares.

"You boys are going into business?" Phil questioned.

"Yes sir," said Fred, "Rasalas was brilliant helping us get started."

"You have yourself an attorney?"

"A what?"

"He means a solicitor. And it's a good idea. Next time I see Kate, I'll ask if her firm can represent them."

"Now look, I won't have—"

There came a distraction in the form of Brady turning into a giant canary.

"Good grief!" Casey exclaimed, shocked.

"Fred and George Weasley!" Molly shrieked.

Corey, meanwhile, was doubled over in his seat, howling with laughter. It took him more than a few seconds to recompose himself, before he managed to say, "Well... 'least now he can really sing like a bird..."

"He'll probably get you back for that," Rasalas smirked.

Within a minute, Brady began to 'moult' his feathers, and soon after, reverted back to normal. He simply shook his head. "Damn."

"That's wild," said Aaron, "You guys really made all this stuff?"

"Neville ate one of those last year," Ron remembered.

"Yeah, huge hit at the party we had after the first task of the tournament. So we're still looking for a storefront. Hopefully in Diagon Alley, but we might buy out Zonko's in Hogsmeade," said George.

"So people can turn into animals 'an shit," Corey guessed.

"Well, Professor McGonagall can turn into a cat," said Hermione, "It's called an Animagus form. Not everyone can do it though."

"Rasalas' father could turn into a stag, and as for me," said Sirius, and right before their eyes, he became an enormous black dog.

"Padfoot," Rasalas whispered, once again assaulted by a flash-memory.

"You remember him," Ryan guessed.

"Yeah. One of the very few clear memories I have of my old life. I was really little though. I kept calling him 'pafoo'. I guess I wasn't able to properly pronounce my D's or my T's yet."

"That's awesome," said Corey.

Padfoot wagged his tail a few times, then shifted back.

"As Hermione points out, it's a very rare ability. And I'd ask everyone here to keep my form quiet. I could get into trouble since I'm not registered with the ministry."

"But people can be turned into animals," said Ron, "Harry won't remember, but last fall, a teacher turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret. Too bad it wasn't permanent. Little menace was made a Prefect this year, and he's been recruited into Umbridge's inquisitional squad. They all but rule the school."

"Let's just leave that rubbish," said Rasalas, "Today's not the day."

"Well... uh, question, 'bout the pouch 'ya gave me," said Brady, "How much can it carry?"

"I don't know," Rasalas answered, "I know it can hold a lot. And you know to be careful who sees you putting stuff in it—I mean, if the stuff you're putting in it wouldn't fit spatial reasoning—don't do it in front of people who don't know about magic."

"Yeah, I get it."

"Oh. A Gringotts pouch," said Bill, recognizing it immediately, "That's really valuable."

"I ordered it back when Brady was still having trouble with his records and his finances. And there's one more thing. Gringotts is willing to handle his finances, just to prevent such meddling from happening again."

"'an my cards'll all still work?"

"You'll be issued new cards," said Sirius, "With the advantage that they'll work in the magical world. As it stands, magical stores won't accept Muggle coin or plastic. Most shops in England, still deal only in wizarding coin, being so backwards compared with the rest of the world."

"Thank you. Uh... next question. When we goin' flyin'?"

"After lunch," Rasalas smirked, "Since two of you now have new toys. It might be cool to organize a pick-up Quidditch match... if more brooms can be located."

"I think we might have a few in the cellar, but I don't know of their condition," said Sirius, "The house really hasn't been used in perhaps a century, save for my brief visit last year."

That afternoon passed in a blur of broom races, seeker duels, and a game of pick-up Quidditch (since there weren't enough players for two teams). Rasalas proved that, even though he'd forgotten his past life, he still reigned supreme as champion seeker. Brady proved to be the fastest flier, but when it came to finesse and fine control, Rasalas still won it hands down. They at last called it a day when the sun had long sank behind the trees, and it became difficult to see in the twilight.

Dinner proved to be a spectacular event, given there were three mothers present. The cooking and baking had gone on all day pretty much, with the entire manor being filled with mouth-watering smells. Then, with everyone stuffed to nearly bursting, they again moved to the great room, while Sirius and Bill helped Molly with the clean up.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur of drink, more food, and music. Rasalas was surprised to learn that Phil was a scratch fiddle player. Couple that with Brady's singing and playing, and a few other voices joining in, it was an amazing cap to an otherwise amazing day. It was certainly a day to remember, and perhaps one hard to outdo. It was likely Brady and his family wouldn't be with them next year, nor the Weasleys for that matter. Once in a lifetime, as Rasalas saw it.

* * *

><p><em>December 31<em>

There had been debate about what to do for the New Year's Eve celebrations. Both Ryan and Aaron had already planned to spend the evening in Niagara Falls at Queen Victoria Park—there was a large, free celebration there with fireworks at midnight.

Ron and the rest of the kids at the manor also wanted to attend, but Molly all but forbid them from attending, save for Fred and George, who were of age. Though she discouraged it, she could not outright forbid them.

Once again, Rasalas was torn. He wanted to go with his new friends to Niagara Falls, but he also didn't want to let down his old friends. It was made even more difficult, when Brady decided to go as well.

Ron had put him at ease. "Go. It'll still be wicked here. Maybe I might get a kiss from Hermione..."

"Dream on, lover boy," Rasalas teased.

It had taken only a few hours to organize the outing, with Auror Jackson arranging not only the security detail, but the accommodation. Both Rasalas and Brady wondered how they'd managed to pull that off, considering it was more than likely the rooms had been sold out months in advance.

The evening entertainment, meanwhile, proved to be somewhat of an annoyance to Rasalas. It ran something along the line of the kind of music Ryan listened to, but no—at least Ryan's stuff had a soul to it. It was more flash than meaningful lyrics, and quite frankly, Rasalas was nearly ready to just drag everyone back to the manor.

When midnight finally arrived cuing the pyrotechnics, Rasalas couldn't be more thankful. Unfortunately, Ryan was not in the mood to return to the hotel after the fireworks display, and instead dragged them into the casino. Brief embarrassment ensued, when they were all asked for I.D., before being allowed in. Ryan smirked after, whispering something about a Confundus charm on Aaron's I.D.

Knowing that Rasalas had not seen a casino before, Brady showed him the various tables and machines, letting him try everything at least once. It also went without saying, he ended up giving out dozens of autographs and ended up in perhaps twice as many pictures, as he was most certainly recognized.

As it grew really late (or perhaps really early), Brady let the others know he was returning to his hotel room. He had a group of young ladies on his arm, and Rasalas had to roll his eyes, knowing what his friend actually had in mind. He'd not been in the company of the opposite sex, likely for several months. 'Good on him,' Rasalas thought, simply. Though... five of them... wow.

It was even later before everyone else returned to the hotel room. Ryan had the hot streak of the night, winning nearly nine-hundred dollars at the slots. Everyone else ended up losing a bit of coin. Rasalas really didn't care a whole lot, it had been a wicked start to the new year... far better than the noise he'd been subjected to hours before... and by no means was he thinking of the fireworks.

Then secure in his room, he began to get undressed, still buzzing from the combination of the atmosphere and the alcohol. It had been a good night... wait. Was that... Rasalas had to smirk. Brady's room was directly beside his, and it sounded like he was being very-well entertained. More moans. Oh yes, very well entertained—

"_JESUS FUCK_!"

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Rasalas and his friends deal with a near-disaster, requiring the services of a mind-healer. A warning, there is mature subject matter.<em>


	15. A Debt Repaid

_Posted December 13, 2014._

_SUMMARY: __Rasalas and his friends deal with a near-disaster, requiring the services of a mind-healer._

_WARNING: Mature subject matter, and the potential for triggering content._

* * *

><p><strong>115. A DEBT REPAID<br>January 1, 2006**

"_Speak not of my debts unless you mean to pay them."_

_- George Herbert_

* * *

><p>In the four months Rasalas had known Brady, he wasn't one to raise his voice all that much. On stage, during a performance, sure... but otherwise? He could certainly get agitated, but to go off and scream at someone—no, that was out of character.<p>

Another loud thump, and another shriek from next door had Rasalas flying out the door to his room, wand gripped tightly in his hand. He sent a firework down the corridor, then aimed his wand at the door to Brady's room. "_Reducto_!"

The door blew in with a violent crash, and he stormed into the room, only to come to an abrupt halt, taking in the scene. Four of the young women Brady had brought up to the room with him were crowded around the bed, all of them wearing only their underclothes. Brady was tied to the bed, stripped nude.

A flash of metal to his left had him turning abruptly. "_Expelliarmus_!"

The weapon went clattering up against the wall.

"Move an inch and I'll take your head," Rasalas hissed.

"C'mon girls, it's just one of them!" one of the assailants jeered. The speaker was nude, and had attempted to attack him with the knife.

"_Immobilus_!" And now no one in the room could move.

"Rasalas... what—" Sirius immediately understood what was going on, and he too produced his wand.

"They're immobilized... go get Auror Jackson, we need a healer."

"Did they attack you?"

"That one did," said Rasalas, pointing to the woman who'd come at him with a knife.

Sirius gave the woman a tragic look. "My dears, by doing that, you have all made a tragic mistake. See, had you not come at my godson, it would be the local police handling this matter. Instead—"

"Everything—What happened?" It was Auror Jackson.

"I heard Brady shouting. I broke the door down, and this is what I found," said Rasalas, "That one—" he pointed at the woman now immobilized to his left, "—came at me with a knife. It's over there." He pointed to the weapon laying on the floor by the window.

"I see."

It was then that three more Aurors stepped into the room, all looking grim-faced. One of them produced a camera, and began to photograph the room, starting with the busted door. Rasalas felt bad for his friend... they would take pictures of his humiliating position before he would be moved.

Another, meanwhile, produced a large plastic container, and began to collect the numerous bottles which had collected on a nearby table.

"Auror Dean, d'you mind repairing the door so we have privacy?"

"Sir." Auror Dean, a short witch with dark hair, produced her wand, and quickly repaired the door. "The electronic lock will have to be replaced."

"Expected," said Auror Jackson, "Mr. Black, you mind cancelling your immobilizing charm?"

"Oh. _Finite_," Rasalas spoke, and the five perpetrators found they could move once again. Rasalas, though, kept his wand trained on them, as did Sirius and Auror Jackson.

"What did you do to him?" Rasalas demanded.

"I think there's been a mistake," the woman who'd had the knife tried, "He was having a great time until you barged in with... whatever you did to me!"

"Nice try. Check for Rohypnol, GHB... hell, might be best to do the full tox screen," said Auror Jackson.

Auror Dean produced her wand. "You four, step away from the bed and against the window there." She indicated the open space in front of the window.

"Hold on," said the Auror taking pictures, "I need to record the victim's state."

Auror Dean waited for him to finish taking pictures, before kneeling beside the bed. She reached over and felt for a pulse.

"His heart rate's fluctuating. We'll need a healer straight away."

"Fawkes," said Rasalas, to no one in particular.

The phoenix arrived in his customary blaze of golden flames. Seeming to know what the problem was, he lit over to the bed, but let out a mournful cry.

"He needs an open wound to cry into," Auror Jackson realized.

"I'll need to draw blood anyway for the tox screen," Auror Dean said, pointing her wand at the restraints holding Brady's right hand down. She vanished the restraints, then gripped his hand firmly in his, and making a shallow cut in the palm. Now, she produced a vial from the pocket of her jacket, and collected a small sample of blood, before allowing Fawkes to then cry into the wound.

"So we got forcible confinement, battery, sexual assault, by his state of awareness, I'd say we also have administering an incapacitating agent... Auror Stevens, search their persons."

The Auror named Stevens produced his wand, along with several bags. A wave of his wand had a number of items come flying out of the first woman who'd had the knife. One of the items was a small bag containing a crystal-like substance. Auror Stevens opened it, took a pinch of it, and dabbed his tongue in it.

"GHB," he said, after casting a cleaning charm on his mouth.

"So possession of a controlled substance for illegal purposes. And for you specifically, miss, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder of a magical person."

"Magical person?" the first perpetrator snorted, "You're all sniffin' glue or something. Must be high. Yeah."

"Get them out of here. Central holding on Toronto Island," said Auror Jackson."

Auror Stevens and the third Auror secured the accused with magical bindings, and a port key was fashioned that carried them away in a blur of limbs.

"Fawkes, I'll need you to pick up a healer for us," said Auror Jackson, stepping over to the dresser, and picking up a notepad and a pen. "I'm sure you did a fantastic job fixing his physical ailments, but knowing this sort of crime, there will most definitely be injury to his mental state."

"_Mental state_? Bloody hell, he was _raped_! Of _course_ he'll be scarred mentally!" Rasalas yelled, "Sirius, I want these... _wenches_ to pay!"

"Rasalas. The court will handle it," said Auror Jackson, "They'll face our justice system, likely end up in Azkaban for it. A non-magical person coming after a wizard... it's a very serious crime. Even here."

He finished scribbling out a note, and held it out for Fawkes. "To Upper Canada Hospital in Toronto. Give it to the greeter, they'll know what to do."

Fawkes took the note, and vanished in another blaze of golden flames.

"His mother's gonna go spare," Rasalas whispered, "We... this shouldn't have happened."

"It could have been worse, kiddo. You prevented it from being so. That's what you take from this. Don't beat yourself up over something you couldn't have seen coming."

"I still want them to pay," Rasalas snarled, "Turn them all into sewer rats. Maybe Wormtail might then get some and these worthless wenches might understand what it's like to be violated!"

Sirius arched an eyebrow. Rasalas was beyond angry, and for good reason. Perhaps it might be worth having a look in the old records, see how the family might have dealt with such a situation in the past. Brady and his family were under the Blacks' protection, so most certainly, a few old laws did come into play. Additionally, it would send a very clear message to their enemies.

It was then there came another flash of golden flames, and Fawkes flamed in, bringing a witch in a lime-green robe.

"Over here, madam healer," Auror Dean called.

The healer joined her at the bed. "What happened?"

"He was administered GHB and restrained at a minimum."

"All right." The healer produced her wand, gestured at the floor around the bed, conjuring some curtains. "Everyone else, wait outside. One Auror is enough."

"Into my room then," said Rasalas.

Stepping out into the corridor, they found Ryan and Aaron waiting impatiently.

"What happened?"

"Brady was attacked by the group of women he brought up to his suite," answered Auror Jackson, "They've been detained, and a healer is conducting an exam."

"G-g-god, we didn't hear anything. S-s-sorry."

"Not your fault, Ryan. Being next door, I heard him yelling. God, this is so messed up," said Rasalas, as they stepped into his room.

"Rasalas. Seriously, you saved his life. I caught a glimpse of the thoughts of the ringleader. They would have killed him," said Auror Jackson.

Rasalas let out a laugh, but it was hollow. "Go figure. A debt paid in full, then."

"How do you mean?" asked Aaron.

"Th-th-think about it," said Ryan, "It was Brady who saved Ras' life, right? And here less than ffff-five months later, Ras r-r-returns the favour."

"When the healer is done with her examination, we'll be returning to the Sawyers' residence," said Auror Jackson, "Though I like the security at the manor..."

"We'll be playing twenty questions," Aaron guessed, to which Auror Jackson gave a nod.

"Exactly. Mr. Gibson needs calm and rest, until we can get a mind-healer."

"I might like to have a word with her as well. This is so messed up," said Rasalas, again.

"Never mind the incident surrounding your vision of Mr. Weasley's attack."

"Yeah, that too. But no, my priority now is this rubbish. Never expected..."

"Nor did we. They looked harmless," said Auror Jackson, "We dropped the ball, and I'll probably hear it from the department head."

"No matter what... we have to all look out for him now. This sort of shit happens in the community... guys don't think it can happen to them, right? But it does... and it's the same."

"Community? Oh." Rasalas caught on to what Aaron meant. "But... Brady's straight as an arrow..."

"Doesn't matter," said Aaron, dismissively, "God... this will all but kill him inside. I mean, you know what he sings about in most of his songs."

Rasalas gave a nod, once again feeling white-hot anger lick his insides. Aaron was right. To be attacked by... well, maybe not quite the female type depicted in his music... but still... something close to the subject matter becoming something threatening? There was no mistake, his friend had been damaged, and at this point, it was unknown just how badly.

A few minutes later, Auror Dean asked them back into the room. The healer was just finishing, and had vanished the curtains she had conjured.

"He will need a mind-healer sooner rather than later."

"I'll be coming by Upper Canada Hospital soon as we're done here and get Mr. Gibson back to a secure location," said Auror Jackson, "I can make the arrangements then. He's been sedated?"

"Yes. So he won't stir for several hours. His family will be notified?"

"Yes," said Sirius, "His mother is staying at another residence of mine. We'll likely wait until later in the morning before breaking such unfortunate news."

"All right. Then here is where I take my leave. Any further complications, notify the hospital at once." She twisted on the spot and Disapparated.

"That's our cue to leave as well. Where are his things?"

"Err... there."

His clothes had been left in a neat pile on one of the chairs. That meant that at least part of the event, he'd been a willing participant. Sirius levitated Brady off the bed, and another flick of the wand had him dressed.

"Um... Sirius and Rasalas. If you could support him and help him reach the port key..." Auror Jackson had produced a tin pie plate from one of the pockets of his jacket. "_Portus_." It shimmered blue a moment before falling still.

"Actually, Aaron, if you could help Rasalas with Brady... I need to stay behind and settle up. I'll see you back at the Sawyers in about a half hour."

* * *

><p>The Port key dropped them in the yard behind the house. With one of them travelling unconscious, they all ended up sprawled on the frozen ground. The cold actually woke Brady up, but Auror Jackson immediately stunned him again.<p>

"C'mon, help me carry him," said Rasalas.

"Why don't you just use magic?"

Rasalas gave Aaron a glare. "Rather impersonal, don't you think? This was bad enough."

This time it was Ryan who helped, and they carried Brady into the house—Auror Jackson had unlocked the back door with a wave of his wand. It was a bit of a challenge getting him up the stairs, but they finally got him into bed. Another flick of Auror Jackson's wand had him stripped down to his underwear, and under the covers.

"You've done this before," said Rasalas, trying to get his mind off the terrible events of the morning.

"I have two boys at home."

"But you don't ssss-see them that often, if you're always w-w-working here."

"I see them enough. Likely won't be until this afternoon today. This will make a lot of paperwork as it is. Never mind the conversation I'll inevitably have to have with the department head. Really dropped the ball here."

"Will he stay asleep?"

"Should. If the healer gave him a dreamless-sleep potion, he won't wake for several hours. I'd suggest you all get some rest, we'll need to discuss this matter further as it is, with clear heads. As it is, I have to attend the hospital and arrange for a mind-healer to visit. That'll likely be later this morning."

They watched Auror Jackson leave.

"I don't know about you guys, but there's no way I'm gonna sleep," said Rasalas, dragging a chair over beside Brady's bed. "I'm staying here. You guys can borrow my bed if you want."

"Why don't th-th-they Obliviate him?" Ryan wondered.

"I don't know," said Rasalas, "Maybe the mind-healer can tell us. But... that kind of makes sense. I almost wish we could trade places. To be able to forget such a terrible thing... this is so messed up."

"Get some rest, Ras. Even just closing your eyes a bit," said Aaron, as the pair lay down. Ryan immediately pulled Aaron close, so they were spooned up against each other.

* * *

><p>It seemed like only minutes later, that someone put a hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Rasalas?"

"Huh?" Rasalas sat up and rubbed his eyes. He found Auror Jackson had returned, along with a witch in lime-green robes. At first, he thought it was the same healer who'd attended the scene back at the hotel, but... no, it was someone different.

She was perhaps a little shorter than Ryan, but definitely taller than Aaron. Maybe Brady's height. She had short, sandy hair and a heart-shaped face.

"Rasalas, this is Theresa Fleming, a mind-healer from Upper Canada Hospital. She'll be speaking to Mr. Gibson first, and then she'll speak to you."

"Oh. Uh, great."

Rasalas looked over to his own bed, and found it unoccupied. Aaron and Ryan had left then. Back to their own room perhaps? He stood up.

"I'm not leaving the room."

"It's fine, but I'll be putting up a privacy ward," said Theresa, "No matter what the relationship, I do enforce healer-patient privilege."

"I understand."

"Has he moved?"

"No. Not that I know of," Rasalas answered. "What... what time is it?"

"Just after ten. Rasalas, why don't you go down and get something to eat?"

"Not hungry."

"Well... why don't you wake him up? It'll be rather impersonal if we use magic."

Rasalas reached over and gave Brady's hand a squeeze. "Hey. Brady?"

Brady momentarily opened his eyes, but shut them again.

"There's someone who wants to speak with us," Rasalas tried.

"Fuck off," came the muttered reply.

"Mr. Gibson..."

"GO. Away."

"We can do this here or at the hospital," said Theresa.

Brady again opened his eyes, and focused on the speaker.

"Maybe a calming draught might work," Rasalas suggested.

"Fuck off with your potions," Brady muttered, "Unless there's somthin' 'ya got that'll make me forget."

"Unfortunately we don't," answered Theresa, "However, there are other things we can do. I'm Theresa, and I'm a mind-healer from Upper Canada Hospital. I don't promise to have all the answers, but I can help you make sense of things."

"So you're a shrink then."

"Better," Theresa answered, "Non-magical psychologists and psychiatrists don't have access to the mind-arts, a branch of magic. But it still rests on your shoulders, what you take from our sessions. Are you willing to at least give it a try?"

Brady let out a huff. "All right."

"Make yourself comfortable then. Auror Jackson, and Mr. Black, I'll have you wait over there." Theresa pointed to the opposite side of the room, and then drew her wand.

When Rasalas and Auror Jackson were on the other side of the room, she then flicked her wand at the floor, and any further conversation could not be heard.

"I'll be downstairs," said Auror Jackson.

"Don't you need to get home?"

"No. I'm here until noon. Longer if necessary. Don't worry about me, my wife knows my job's important. Why don't you lay down? They'll likely be a while, probably an hour."

"Yeah. Good thought."

Rasalas lay down on his bed, and for a while, watched as Theresa spoke with Brady. Though he couldn't hear what was being said, it looked like the two got along okay, so perhaps, things might work. At least he wasn't swearing at her. That had really caught Rasalas off guard. And yet, it was understandable, given his mental state. In his place, Rasalas would be angry at the world, too.

He folded his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes. What a terrible end to the night. To be violated so... and the ones responsible had appeared so innocent, only offering him a good time. Yeah, right... good time. He'd remember that next time he took someone out on a date. 'Say, is this going to end with a goodnight kiss, or a spiked drink?' Like _that_ would go over well.

Sometime later, he once again felt someone touch him on the arm.

"Mr. Black?"

"It's Rasalas. You're finished?"

"Yes, at least that which I wished to remain private," said Theresa.

Rasalas opened his eyes, and sat up. His immediate concern was for Brady, but he found he was still laying on his own bed, though he propped himself up on one arm.

"Now, if you're not comfortable with Mr. Gibson hearing—"

"He knows already."

"Oh. I see. I understand you have a pensieve."

"Given to me for Christmas."

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned the object from a nearby dresser.

"I'd like to see a memory of your dream, first off. I would then like to see the memory of your recurring dream involving the black door."

Rasalas touched his wand to his temple, and began to draw out the requested memories.

"Just the dreams, or the events immediately following?"

"Just the dreams for now."

Rasalas dropped the fine, hair-like substance into the clay bowl, causing the liquid to shimmer. Theresa put a finger in the fluid, and became rigid.

"That looks fucked up, 'ya know," Brady observed. His voice was barely above a whisper, almost ragged.

"But bloody useful, have to give it that much."

"Why'd we come back here?"

"I think it's because the security is a little less rigid here. You know the only way to or from Black Island is through Sirius, right? It's gonna be a challenge once Ryan and Aaron go back to school in a week... and Ron and Hermione go back to Hogwarts next week..."

"Guess I should be sayin' thanks... saved my ass last night."

"And I'd do it again, Brady. It's what friends do, right? And I promise this. If the ministry doesn't deal with them, the family will. You and your brother and your mum are under our protection.

"No matter what, I'll always have your back... just as I'll always protect Ron and Hermione... they were my first friends ever."

Theresa un-froze, and carried a grim expression on her face.

"Most unusual. I haven't seen many cases like this. It was as though you actually were the snake. That an accurate description?"

"Spot on," said Rasalas, "I felt like the snake... I could hear its thoughts... it was as though I was in its head."

"Seriously," said Brady, "That's fucked up."

"Care to see it?"

"NO." The answer came rather forcefully.

Rasalas forced back the urge to laugh, as he recollected the memory, and used his wand to put it back in his head.

"Any clue what it might be?"

"Has anyone had a good look at that scar?" Theresa questioned, pointing to the scar on Rasalas' forehead.

"I don't know. I would guess probably not... at least no healer. I mean, the doctors at Sunnybrook probably did, but..."

"They wouldn't be able to do anything with it," said Theresa, as she pointed her wand at the scar, and cast a few spells. "I would like for someone from the Department of Mysteries to have a look at it. If you're willing."

"I won't become a lab rat, madam healer."

"Well, that's something I leave up to you, then. I think that's one thing I want both of you to understand. I'm here for your benefit. If you don't want to do something, I won't ever force you. You can take as much or as little from these sessions as you like, but I do ask you at least try."

"Both of us?" Rasalas questioned.

"Yes. Both of you. Though Mr. Gibson will also be getting a private session, at least for the interim, both of you will be taking part in meditation and calming exercises. You will both benefit from them, and in your case, Mr. Black, those exercises lead to a magical mind art called Occlumency."

"Will it help me stop having these weird dreams and visions?"

"I honestly don't know until we try," Theresa answered. She then threw up a privacy ward.

"There's something you need to know."

"Is he gonna be all right?"

"It will take some time. No matter how little they actually did to him, it's still a terrible ordeal."

"Why can't you just Obliviate him? I mean, when Muggles see magic, that's what we do, right?"

"He's suffered a horrible trauma, mentally, and physically. Such things are not easy to erase. We certainly could, but your friend would never be the same, possibly suffering far worse damage than he's dealing with now," Theresa explained. "He's been given a calming draught, and he'll likely need another before the end of the day—how are you for potions?"

"We can get more if needed."

"As I will tell others, for the next few days he needs to be stress-free. No stressful or disruptive activities around him. He will go through a range of emotions. Just help him work through them. Don't be surprised if he's needy. If he wants something, make sure he gets it. I mean it. No matter how trivial it might be, he needs comfort."

"His mum..."

"Will be told the same thing. And I warn you that you'll probably not get a whole lot of privacy over the next while. He'll need his family as much as he'll need his friends. I understand the pair of you have a unique connection."

"More so now, yeah."

"Don't be surprised if he leans on you more often for support then. All right," said Theresa, dropping the privacy ward, "Let me collect a few things, and I'll be back shortly."

She left the room. Only now did Rasalas get a good look at his friend. He still looked nearly ashen, carrying a haunted look in his eyes. It was like... his cousin. Back at the end of July, he realized, as he was hit by the flash-memory. His cousin... his non-magical cousin, had been attacked by a Dementor. Nearly kissed, until it was driven off by Rasalas' Patronus. Now, Brady looked almost identical.

"What?" Brady asked.

"I... my cousin. Just got another memory. He looked exactly like you do now, after he was attacked by a Dementor."

"Gee. Thanks."

"I wish there was something... but... I'm at a loss. Such rubbish! It should never have happened!"

Rasalas rubbed his face.

"Auror Jackson's beating himself up over it, y'know. Says he dropped the ball just letting those little monsters go off with you without doing some quiet investigating."

"What happened to 'em?"

"I think they were sent to a ministry holding cell. Just... don't think about it. Trust me, we'll deal with them, one way or another."

"My mom... my brother..."

"They'll know soon if not already," Rasalas answered, "Sirius may bring them here, it might be best to just hold off until we get back to the manor."

Brady scowled, but said nothing. His mother was going to pitch a fit, that much he knew. Part of him wanted to just keep it quiet, not worry her, but... Rasalas' words came to him at once: she likely already knew. He needed a shower. His skin still crawled from whatever... from them touching him. 'God help me, they was gon' cut my dick off...'

His thoughts were interrupted, as Theresa returned, with two potions and a small case. She opened the case, and pulled out three small objects that looked like cushions. They were placed on the floor, and with a swish from her wand, they were enlarged such that one could sit on them.

"All right. Come and sit on one of the cushions, so that you're comfortable."

Rasalas and Brady did as asked, and Theresa quickly followed. "Now. For the first few sessions, I'll have both of you drink a potion. It's to help calm the mind."

"A calming draught," Rasalas assumed.

Theresa shook her head. "No. That's a more general potion, which calms the mind, yes, but not quite in the same way as these. It's considered a N.E.W.T. Level potion, though I can certainly give you a copy of the recipe if you'd like to attempt it."

"Err... yeah. I have a tutor that comes in to teach potions," said Rasalas.

"You would earn extra points on your O.W.L. exams, should you be able to properly brew it."

"Like Hermione brewing Polyjuice potion back in second year?"

Theresa arched an eyebrow. "That's almost a master-level potion, Mr. Black."

"Desperate times called for desperate measures, madam healer," Rasalas said, "From what Ron and Hermione have shown me, someone—or something... was petrifying students at school. We needed to question someone without them knowing who we really were."

"Polyjuice potion. What's it do?" Brady asked.

"You put someone's essence into it, and you can quite literally take on their appearance," said Theresa.

"Someone's 'essence'?"

Rasalas could easily guess where Brady was going, and shook his head. "Uh, no. Not _that_ kind of essence. Think hair, finger nails... uh.. skin might work... but hair is the easiest thing to get. Bodily fluids don't count."

That got a brief grin out of Brady, as Theresa passed them each a potion.

"All right. So drink your potions, and we'll get started."

The session went on for about an hour, and covered a series of exercises aimed at grounding the mind, and getting to a completely relaxed state. Toward the end of it, Rasalas almost nodded off—which Theresa said was perfectly okay. It only meant the exercises were having the intended effect. It was considered an extra benefit of the exercise.

"This would be a good thing to do when I'm trying to get to sleep at night," said Rasalas, as Theresa collected the cushions.

"Oh, very much so. In fact I suggest that both of you practice at least some of the exercises when you lay down. I'd love to hear whether or not these exercises have any effect on your strange dreams, Mr. Black."

"I'll let you know."

"Now. Plan on us working on these exercises again tomorrow, and every day for the interim. When is the best time for you?"

"Any time is fine with me. I won't be going anywhere," said Rasalas, "As it stands I'll likely need to be here when my classes pick up again next week."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Theresa, "In the mean time, let's plan to meet again after lunch tomorrow. I'll need to juggle my schedule, but I think I can make that work."

Once she had left, Rasalas summoned Fawkes.

"Your mum will likely already know, but... she'll want to hear from you. It's one thing that drove me nuts back in September... worrying that my parents would be looking for me, not knowing what happened."

"Yeah, I remember that," said Brady, as Rasalas dug in the desk and pulled out a pad of paper along with a pen.

"Don't go into too much detail, but let her know you're all right. Really need to work out being able to travel to the island without Sirius..."

Once Brady had scribbled out a quick note, Rasalas sent it off with Fawkes.

Almost immediately after, Sirius knocked at the door, though it was open.

"Theresa just left," he said. "Lunch is out, and though neither of you likely feel like eating, you really do need to have at least a little."

"Yeah, you're right. Err. What is it?"

"Chicken soup. Whatever you said to Kreacher, it's extended to his cooking."

"Do we trust 'im?" Brady asked.

"Yeah, I think it's safe," said Rasalas, "Come on. If I have to eat, so do you."

Since there were only five of them in the house, lunch had been put out on the small table in the kitchen, rather than the dining room. Ryan and Aaron were already present, and Kreacher was already serving them a generous helping each of soup. There was also a platter of sandwiches and crackers, along with a pitcher of juice to go with it.

"Theresa suggested this for lunch," said Sirius, "And I do remember mother doing something similar for us when I was still welcome at the house."

"Still welcome?" Brady was confused.

"I became an outcast when I was sorted into Gryffindor," Sirius explained, "Once mother realized I didn't tow the family line, she threw me out. As was mentioned before, my godson's family became mine, for all intents and purposes. James was my best friend."

"Explains why you're his godfather."

"Yes. James all but insisted."

"I still don't get it... family's supposed to be everything, right?"

"Unless you're a Black, and you don't fit in with their pureblood ideals," said Sirius, darkly, as he received his serving of soup, "My cousin Andromeda married a Muggleborn named Theodore Tonks. They call him Ted, of course. She was expelled from the family. I'm looking to see if I might be able to undo it."

"And I mean, you know about my awful relatives," said Rasalas, "From what Ron tells me anyway... having to rescue me just before second year. They put bars on my bedroom window. I can't remember why, but... what information I can get from the neighbourhood... the neighbours all thought I was a delinquent."

"Petunia was very jealous of her sister, Rasalas, simply because Lily had been gifted with magic, while Petunia wasn't."

"Why's that happen?" Brady wondered.

"It's a question we don't know the answer to, Mr. Gibson," said Sirius, "But most certainly, it can spurn jealousy between siblings."

"Well, life isn't exactly fffff-fair, is it?" said Ryan, between bites.

"Ryan..."

"What, it's true. So far the only one here who's n-n-n-not had some disaster dropped in his lap is you!"

"Not true," Aaron snapped, "My parents pretend I don't exist. Seriously. We've been out of the country since the middle of December, and they don't pick up the phone and call and see if I'm okay. Not even a card, never mind a Christmas present!"

"All right, that's enough," said Sirius.

It was then that Rasalas got another flash memory... Christmas at the Dursleys. He gave out a hollow laugh.

"Getting nothing is better than getting dog treats... or bent wire coat hangers."

"Seriously?"

Sirius, meanwhile, looked furious. "When was this?"

"I dunno. It was before I would have attended Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione shared memories of Christmases spent there. Though my first year, the Dursleys did send me a fifty-pence piece."

"Well that's something," said Aaron.

"Except that Muggle money is no good in the magical world. Not until it's converted. And fifty pence wouldn't get all that much when converted," said Sirius, "No, that was most certainly meant as an insult."

"Still better than getting nothing at all," Aaron challenged, "At least your relatives somehow acknowledged you exist... even if it was loathing or disdain."

"Your world's fucked up," said Brady, "What the hell's wrong with people?"

"I dunno, you'll need to ask my Aunt. As I will certainly have a few questions for her when next we meet. Questions that will be asked in the presence of an agent from _Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs(1)_."

Aaron smirked. "The tax man. 'We've got what it takes to take what you've got.'"

Rasalas smirked right back. "Yeah. One way to make them suffer. Hit them in their coin purse. And that's exactly what I plan to do. Just not sure when. Kate's still collecting evidence with the help of Garokat. I'll see them ruined. That perfect little world they so cherish? I'll bring it all crashing down around their ears."

Ryan grinned. "Don't meddle in the affairs of w-w-w-wizards."

Rasalas nodded and grinned right back. "As a few people will find out, yeah. My revenge list has grown by five in the last twenty-four hours. Non-magical targets are easier, but coin is coin."

Brady listened to the conversation as he ate. How would this have played out without his new friends? Dead, more than likely. He still felt unclean. But a shower would do nothing for what he felt like inside. He reached up, and rubbed the back of his head. His entire world was off-balance, and though the exercises that morning had been of benefit, he still felt... they had taken something from him he knew he could never get back.

How long before the story reached the media? Though he'd not been on camera at any point during the evening, he'd certainly had his picture taken with more than a few people. So it was known by more than a few he was staying in the hotel.

His entire persona, his image, his credibility as an artist... all of it would be destroyed. That was the naked truth. And how open were the criminal trials in the magical world?

All of that still paled to the crushing, overwhelming feeling swirling about his head. A wound had been seared into his very soul. Something that would be with him likely until the day he passed on.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: HarryRasalas' school friends return to Hogwarts; Kate at last visits the manor, and plans are discussed to deal with the persons responsible for the attack on Brady; news reaches them of a mass escape of inmates from Azkaban; and Brady's mental state erodes, with potentially lethal consequences..._

_CHAPTER NOTES: I need not say, that sexual assault on men does most certainly happen, though far less than the other way around. I did mention in the beginning of the story, there would be MATURE SUBJECT MATTER._

_I need not say, some difficult times are ahead, as Rasalas and his friends try and help Brady work through this. And of course, the Blacks deal out a bit of revenge on his behalf. I should note, financial consequences will be one of the themes in the story. Sometimes, suffering can be dealt out in a financial manner, as the five ladies responsible for the attack will eventually find out._

_(1)According to Wikipedia: "Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs (HMRC) is a non-ministerial department of the UK Government responsible for the collection of taxes, the payment of some forms of state support, and the administration of other regulatory regimes including the national minimum wage."_

_The organization was formed in the spring of 2005, merging Inland Revenue with HM Customs and Excise._


	16. The Breaking Point

_Posted December 16, 2014  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __Harry/Rasalas' school friends return to Hogwarts; Kate at last visits the manor, and plans are discussed to deal with the persons responsible for the attack on Brady; news reaches them of a mass escape of inmates from Azkaban; and Brady's mental state erodes, with potentially lethal consequences..._

* * *

><p><strong>116. THE BREAKING POINT<br>January 1 – 14, 2006**

"_Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you'll blind yourself to know when you've reached yours."_

_- Dorothy McFalls, _The huntress

* * *

><p>For the next few days, things seemed to go well, with Brady speaking to Theresa for an hour every day. They would then be joined by Rasalas, for the meditation and calming exercises. At the same time, Sirius was working to make it so healers and tutors could make it to Black Island without him needing to ferry them back and forth.<p>

On January 5, everyone finally returned to the island. For now, Theresa had been given a return port key, so she would be able to return home, and get back to the island. She would have to be issued with a new one each trip, but it would work until Sirius found an easier solution. Opening the floo connection was something he really didn't want to do, since it could introduce a vulnerability, no matter how secure the wards were.

While adjustments were made to Rasalas' room, Brady was all but dragged into his mother's room by his brother, and the door shut. It was understandable, his mother was most certainly concerned, and she'd not heard the entire story yet. 'In her shoes,' Rasalas thought, 'I'd want to drag them all to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, to get away from all this rubbish.'

Not that that would matter a whole lot. Against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, there really wasn't a lot of places one could hide... particularly once one had been targeted. And there was still no explanation as to why they were targeted in the first place. Unless... of course. His name-change was most certainly known, and likely had been since Dumbledore's unannounced visit back at the beginning of November. From there, it didn't take a lot of reasoning. There were more than a few pictures floating around on the internet... never mind other media... of Rasalas and Brady together.

It still came back to the simple fact that Brady and his family were in extreme danger as long as Voldemort lived. And this latest, terrible incident was a reminder of how easy it was... what if they had been Death Eaters? And yet—

There came the sound of a door banging against its stop, and angry footsteps coming down the hall, before Corey burst into the room.

"How'd you let this happen?!" he fumed, looking ready to take a swing at Rasalas. Instead, he found himself facing the business end of an elder wand.

"I don't want to stun you, but I will. Now calm down."

"Explain to me why! How come you didn't—"

"We did, Corey. 'I' did. Whatever they were going to do to him, we prevented it. Yes, it's ugly, but trust me, it's being taken care of."

"My brother... my big bro's all fucked up..." Corey looked caught between wanting to punch someone, and wanting to just cry.

"Your brother's a strong guy," said Rasalas, "In his shoes, I'd likely have gone off the deep end. The past few days have shown me a lot about his character. And trust me. I have his back. Just as my godfather does. You guys are under our protection, we take that rather seriously."

"Not serious enough!"

"What would you like me to do, climb into bed with him?!"

"I... what..." Corey opened his mouth and closed it several times, as he was caught off guard by Rasalas' comment.

"Just trust us. If it's in our power to keep you safe, we'll do it. Right? There were four Aurors within spitting distance, they were on the scene within seconds."

"Where's the freaks who did this?"

"In jail, where they belong. You're pissed, and you have a right to be. Just trust me, we have it in hand. Brady's gonna get loads of help... and he's gonna need his little brother to keep it together. Agreed?" Rasalas asked, lowering his wand.

"Yeah, agreed."

"Your mum... how is she coping with it?"

"How d'ya think?!"

"I... no matter what it is, you guys just need to ask, and we'll try and get it," Rasalas promised.

"Make things how they were."

"Except for that," said Rasalas, sadly, "It's one thing we can't fix at this point."

"Then why aren't 'ya over there, fightin' him?"

"Because he has many followers, and he's a fully-grown wizard with about fifty years of experience on me. How do you think that will play out?"

Corey let out a sigh.

"I ain't bein' fair to you," he realized, "God, this is so fucked up."

"You're right in wanting to be angry. I would be too. I mean, Hermione's like a sister to me, and something like this happened to her, I'd be furious too. But being angry at me isn't going to fix it, right?"

* * *

><p>The following morning, just before Theresa began her session with Brady, Auror Jackson sat down with them, and collected both a statement and a pensieve memory. The session that followed ended up taking an extra half-hour, since drawing a memory forced him to relive it.<p>

The mind exercises that followed also proved fruitless, and Rasalas was frustrated to see Brady once again become closed up and guarded. Other occupants of the household tried to cheer him up, but that was met with indifference, or worse. He finally retreated to the bedroom during the mid-afternoon, and did not show up for dinner. Both his brother and his mother then went up to check on him, while everyone else moved into the great room.

"Perhaps it's a good thing most of you will be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday," said Phil, "This many people around likely won't be helpful for him recovering."

"But I've read somewhere—"

"Hermione. Books aren't always right," said Rasalas, "And really. He hates the world right now. He's had part of his soul torn out of him. So last thing he needs is us needling him and trying to get him to join in the fun or whatever you guys were doing earlier.

"He needs family and people he can trust and quiet."

"Yes, I couldn't agree more," said Casey, "Though I will be staying here, Phil is returning to the house Sunday as well, since the business opens Monday and he needs to be there."

"I'll also provide you with a return port key," Sirius promised.

"Ryan and Aaron will also be remaining here, that's if it's okay with you," said Casey.

"Perfectly fine. Though I reiterate my godson's words. No chaos. And I expect you both will have something to do, since Rasalas will have classes of his own here."

"W-w-well, I do want to learn magic, right?"

"I'm reviewing for O.W.L.s, remember? I'm not sure how much time I'll be able to help you... but we'll work something out. Maybe the tutors might be willing."

"As for my husband and I, we'll be here another two weeks," said Mrs. Weasley, "He's expected back at work on the twenty-third."

"Always happy to have you with us, Molly," said Sirius.

* * *

><p><em>January 8, 2006<em>

It was a bittersweet parting of ways that afternoon, as Hermione and the Weasley children returned to Hogwarts via port key. A teacher would meet them at the gates and escort them up to the castle proper, as the plan went. Bill would then return to the manor via return port key.

"We're definitely working on getting Umbridge solved," Sirius promised, "Miss Lewis continues to work wonders, so look for something to happen later in the month."

"And a letter will always find me, guys," said Rasalas.

"Just put care of S. Black, and it'll get here."

"All right, nearly time to go," said Bill, "Let's gather around so no one gets left behind."

The port key was yet another tin pie plate. Bill held it out, and the kids all grabbed on.

"Good luck guys, see you in June."

"You too, Harry," Hermione beamed.

And they were gone in a blur of limbs. Rasalas looked up at the verandah, to see Brady looking down at them. They briefly made eye contact, before Brady pulled back from the railing and disappeared out of view.

* * *

><p><em>January 9<em>

The port key dropped Kate on the lawn in front of the manor. It would be her first visit to the island, though she had been in contact with her clients by owl and fire-call. She hurried inside, but Sirius escorted her upstairs and out onto the verandah.

Both Rasalas and Brady were in comfortable chairs. Rasalas had a book open on a nearby table, with a clipboard and a pencil on his lap. Brady, meanwhile, looked to be asleep, and to Kate, he looked like death warmed over. His hair had started to grow out, and his beard looked unkempt.

"Rasalas."

"Oh. Kate. I see Sirius finally let you come see us." Rasalas indicated a free chair—Brady had his feet up in the other.

Kate took the offering, and set her portfolio down. Brady half-opened his eyes briefly, but closed them again, not bothering to acknowledge the newcomer.

"Thought you both might like to see this," said Kate, as she pulled out a newspaper from her portfolio, and passed it to Rasalas. The paper featured a large picture of Dumbledore, who looked even more ragged and frail than before, looking sadly at him.

_I.C.W. EXPELLS DUMBLEDORE_

_Cites Dishonourable Conduct for Dismissal_

Rasalas began reading:

_Johannesburg (AWP): The International Confederation of Wizards have expelled former Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore, citing dishonourable conduct which reflects badly on the international government body, after holding a three-hour debate yesterday._

_The expulsion and revocation of all I.C.W. credentials took effect at 12:01 this morning, with all member nations being informed of this decision at time of publication..._

"Good. He can go to hell," Rasalas muttered, passing the paper back. "He's still on my shit list."

"Lot of people on your shit list," Brady muttered, still not bothering to open his eyes.

"And that brings me to my next bit of news. I've petitioned the judge who will be hearing the case for you to be excluded from testifying in person. I believe the pensieve memory and your statement should be sufficient, along with the testimony and evidence from Rasalas and the Aurors."

"Good... yeah, that's good," Brady muttered.

"Theresa gave him a mild sedative and a calming draught," said Rasalas, "I'll mention this to him again later."

"How's his mother handling it?"

"Best as she can, I guess. Her son is withering away in front of her. He's... well I mean look."

Rasalas gestured to the shell of a man half asleep beside him.

"If I had my way, I'd heap every scrap of how he's feeling... what he's feeling... on top of the vile women who did this to him. Have them relive that for the rest of their lives, see how they like it. Of course... a nice dose of the Cruciatus curse—"

"Rasalas! Don't ever think that," Kate admonished him.

"I know that! Bloody hell, last thing I'd ever do... even if the person deserved it. My parents would be rolling over in their graves if I did something like that."

He blew out a breath.

"Is it wrong to want them to hurt?"

"No, I don't think so. But doing it, you know you can't. Doing so, you fall to their level, and you know better than that. Just as you know, there are things we can do to make sure justice is properly served.

"I've been speaking with Garokat, and he's been doing a little bit of background digging into the finances of the accused. Two of them come from very wealthy families, while the rest, not so much."

"What will that get us?"

"Sirius has asked me to do some digging into his family's history, and there's a rather interesting piece of family law that we might be able to use to our advantage.

"Since Brady and his family are under your godfather's protection, it can then be said that the attack against Brady at the beginning of the month was in fact perpetrated against the most ancient and noble house of Black itself. This means... and again, this coming from Garokat... that Sirius can take legal action against the estates of the perpetrators."

"Sue them, you mean. But... if they don't have any money, we won't get anything from them."

"You're thinking in non-magical terms, Rasalas. Here in Canada, it's not exactly legal, and quite honestly, the Canadian ministry will most certainly not like it if this is done... but these are laws formulated centuries ago, perhaps before the English Wizengamot came about."

"What will it mean then?"

"If the suit goes through, and the person is unable to pay, you can then begin proceedings to claim their estate, and if that's not enough, you can quite literally force them to work it off."

"Slavery. No. That's... God, if Hermione found out I did something like that... I'd never hear the end of it. But taking everything they own? Yeah, I would go for that. See them destroyed financially. Make sure the world knows they're sexual predators—leave Brady's name out of it."

"Oh, believe me, I'm working to make sure this remains quiet. I have interns at the firm handling that part of the equation. There have been a few close calls, but so far, we've kept a lid on it."

"What do people think happened? I mean, we were seen at the hotel, in the casino, right?"

"As far as people know, you were all seen getting into a limo early the morning of the first. The five ladies responsible for the attack were seen being escorted from the building around two am, the rumour being they were arrested for drug possession."

"So if they disappear, not a whole lot will be thought of it."

"We'll make sure a story appears that covers it."

"Good. Still floors me that this happened, you know. They looked like... well, they weren't threatening, that's for sure. At the time, I thought, 'good on him,' right? He'd likely not been entertained in such a way since..." Rasalas felt his face get hot, "...I mean, since the beginning of October. It's been a house full of guys."

"Rasalas. He's a grown man. He made the choice to entertain them. Don't blame yourself for something that is by no means your fault."

"But... I do. I feel angry for what happened. I can easily substitute him for Hermione, right? I would be just as furious... maybe just a little more... point being, Brady's one of my best friends. Seeing him like this... part of me is dying with him.

"Most of the time he either lays there, or he lays in on his bed, not moving, barely talking to us. Only time he gets up, is to eat or visit the bathroom... and most of the time we have to coax him to come eat."

He gestured to the plate on the small table, barely touched.

"I don't think he's had a proper shower since before the incident—Theresa has to cast cleaning charms on him—I'm still not comfortable."

"He's fallen into a depression, Rasalas."

"As Theresa has already said. She did warn this might happen..."

"But to see it is something else," Kate finished. "I'm sure she'll have something for it. I know there are potions that can help, but I'm not the healer."

"I don't know what Theresa has planned at this point, but if things don't improve by the weekend, she'll look at other options."

Brady let out a snort, and twisted so he was partially on his side.

"She's teaching you Occlumency, am I correct?"

"Yes. We're still working on mind-calming exercises and so on, but that leads to actual—"

"I know," said Kate, "I've had to take it, as does any solicitor in the magical world. It guarantees privilege."

"Oh. Never thought of that."

* * *

><p><em>January 13<em>

Kate was once again at the manor, bringing more news. This time, Sirius was asked to stay, as she produced yet another newspaper. 'MASS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN', the headline screamed.

"Security is being tightened again, and you guys need to know, the floo network is being monitored a little more closely," Kate warned, "So anything said in a fire-call can be intercepted. So all our business now has to be done in person."

"Big brother," Brady muttered, cracking his eyes open a second. He still looked like death warmed over, but his beard was neatly trimmed again.

"Some people might argue that. But we haven't had a problem with a true dark lord or lady on this side of the Atlantic since the middle of the nineteenth century," said Kate.

Sirius, meanwhile, read over the article.

"Now isn't this something. My crazy cousin's among the escapees, along with her husband and his brother."

"Some of the most dangerous Death Eaters," said Kate, "I've already had a look at the records of conviction. Their photos and details are already on file here in case of this very scenario. Expect the Auror protection detail to be at least doubled—I'm surprised it hasn't happened already."

Just then, there came a blur out on the lawn, revealing a witch of average height. She was headed for the manor.

"I think your herbology tutor just arrived," said Sirius.

"Ryan!"

There came a thump from the next door down, and Ryan appeared, with Aaron following.

"We've got herbology. D'you mind fetching Corey?"

"I got it." Aaron went back inside.

"You guys go meet your tutor, we'll keep an eye on Brady," said Kate. "I may be back at lunch time."

"Great, thanks."

Rasalas picked up his books, and with Ryan following, went back inside.

* * *

><p>It was no surprise that Brady suffered from nightmares on many nights, just as Rasalas continued to get strange dreams involving the door into the Department of Mysteries. Most of the time, however, Rasalas was able to gently shake Brady and bring him out of it, get him a drink or a calming draught, and he would fall back to sleep with little consequence.<p>

However, everyone knew he was only getting worse, and Theresa planned on putting him on a magical form of anti-depressant starting on Monday. Betty had already signed consent, given she was his mother. He said very little, and slept most of the time. Theresa guessed he'd lost nearly a stone since the beginning of the month.

So it was, that early on that Saturday morning, Rasalas was awakened by Brady twisting and moaning. Rasalas let out a sad sigh, and crossed the room to once again wake his friend. He'd twisted the blankets around him—of course that would only aggravate whatever it was he was dreaming about.

"Brady. Wake up," Rasalas whispered, reaching down and touching him on the arm. Instead of waking, Brady recoiled, though he'd been bitten, shrinking away.

"N-no!"

"Brady..." Rasalas tried again, this time reaching for his shoulder.

_WHACK_! The punch came out of left field, sending Rasalas crashing to the floor, his head striking the hardwood. If that wasn't enough, Brady had flew out of bed, and came at him, fists flying. Still dazed from the first punch and the impact with the floor, Rasalas could only try and protect his face, ill-prepared for a non-magical fight.

"Your fault! This's your fault!" Brady half-cried, half-yelled, along with more virtually incoherent speech.

'Wand... need wand right now...' he thought, panicked, grappling, flailing, using his other arm to hold Brady off. 'He's gone mad! _Wand_!'

_Zip_. The cool shaft of wood connected with his flailing palm, and Rasalas cast the first spell he could think of—a stinging hex that made Brady yelp. It only stopped him a moment, before he once again charged at Rasalas, hands outstretched.

"S-_Stupefy_!"

Brady collapsed to the floor in a heap in front of him. He could hear thumps and bangs in the rooms around, as people had most certainly heard the commotion. Rasalas touched his wand to his jaw. "_Episkey_."

He let out a hiss, feeling the sore quickly heal itself. His arm would wait... and his head was swimming from the pair of impacts. 'Great. Concussion, no doubt. As if my brain's not had enough trauma recently.'

Rasalas propped his friend up against him, before summoning a calming draught from the cupboard.

"_Rennervate_."

Brady's eyes flew open, but before he could say a word, Rasalas said, "Calming draught. Drink it or I stun you again and have you moved to the locked ward at _Upper Canada Hospital_. I mean it Brady!"

Brady reached up with a shaking hand, and accepted the offered potion. He sucked it back, grimacing at the awful taste. Rasalas vanished the bottle, then helped his friend sit up. Now, looking into each others' eyes, Brady knew he'd crossed a line. In the dim light of dawn, it wasn't anger he was seeing in Rasalas' eyes, but fear.

"I messed up... 'm sorry."

"I can't let you continue to do this, Brady. You're killing yourself... you're killing me in the process! And you know... doing this... you let them win. I... I don't know what to do any more. I'm scared... for you. You... you saved my life and now... now you're the one needing saving and I don't have a clue."

A single tear escaped to roll down his cheek.

"I won't let you destroy yourself. I care for you too much!"

Now, the dam broke, and Rasalas found himself seized in a near-bone-crushing hug, as Brady at last let bear his own emotions.

"It's... it's okay," Rasalas whispered, "I got your back... I'll always have your back."

It was then the door burst open and Sirius entered, wand drawn, followed by Ryan and Aaron, as well as Betty and Corey. Rasalas simply looked up, saying, "It's okay. Got it in hand."

Sirius gave a nod, but levitated both of them off the floor and onto Rasalas' bed. "Probably be a bit more comfortable. Do you need anything?"

"N-no. Thanks, Padfoot."

"What happened?" Corey dared ask.

"Did somethin' dumb," Brady whispered back, slightly releasing his grip. Rasalas knew, though, they wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

"All right you lot, let's let them have some space," said Sirius.

"But..." Corey began.

"C'mon, boy, Brady's in good hands," said Betty, "We'll talk to 'im later."

Sirius gently pushed everyone out of the room, then closed the door behind him.

"You want your mother to stay? I can get her to come back."

"I... no, 's fine," Brady answered, softly. They separated so they could see each other. "We's both a mess."

That got a weak grin from Rasalas. "Guess we are. But you, Mr. Gibson, look horribly of death and I would see that corrected."

"Yeah, guess I am." He reached up a hand and felt his hair. "Fuck, not let it grow that long in years."

"You weren't yourself."

"Still ain't. This ain't okay 'an it prob'ly never will be."

"But I think it gradually gets better. I dunno, we just have to give it time, right? And lean on me. I'll say it again. You're one of my best friends. Don't know how that happened, but it just is. And anyone else who did what you just did a few minutes ago... needless to say they would have needed a healer."

"I'm sorry," Brady apologized.

"Don't worry about it. What I _do_ want from you, is the promise that you'll try and help yourself. Climb off the floor and back on your feet. I want _you_ with me, not a ghost. I want my knight in shining armour back."

That earned a grin from Brady.

"By the way, your punches really hurt."

"'course they do, I'm a southern boy."

"Right." Rasalas could only grin again. There was some of his personality poking through. "Do I have your word, that you'll pick yourself up? I mean it. I want my friend back."

"Yeah, my word."

"Excellent."

Brady glanced out the window. The sky was gradually getting brighter as sunrise approached.

"Can I get a favour?" he asked.

"Name it."

"Can we go flying?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"I'll see if—"

"Alone."

Rasalas gave a nod. "I'll still let Sirius know we're going so he doesn't worry."

He stood up, and summoned a change of clothes from the wardrobe. He stepped behind the partition in the corner, and quickly dressed. He could hear Brady doing the same, and so waited until he was done before re-emerging.

"Didn' 'ya sleep around a bunch of other boys back at your school?"

"Yeah. All the more reason I like having the partition. Besides, I don't think we're _that_ friendly."

Rasalas immediately felt his face get very hot, and had to resist laughing, as Brady's face went pink in a few places.

"Oh good Lord, Rasalas. I'm straight as they come," he finally managed.

"You sure about that?" Rasalas leered, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Fuck off." It was said with little heat, though, while Rasalas produced his broom.

"Where's yours?"

"I won't need it."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>From their room a few minutes later, Ryan and Aaron spotted a single broom shoot off and away from the manor, to then turn and follow the beach.<p>

"Looks like he's gonna be okay," said Aaron.

"Yeah, m-m-maybe. First life w-w-we've seen in Brady since the new year. Wonder w-w-what happened?"

"They'll tell us when they're ready, right?"

"I think th-th-they have a crush on each other."

"Yeah. Thinking along the same line," Aaron agreed. "C'mon, I'm starving."

"You're always hungry. But y-y-yeah, let's get breakfast. Maybe we can catch up to them after."

"I think they wanted to go alone."

"They d-d-d-don't own the airspace," Ryan smirked.

* * *

><p>They were gone until the sun was well above the horizon, and Rasalas had a gnawing sensation in his stomach. They hadn't had breakfast. The flight felt slightly different than in the past, primarily because Brady seemed to hold on much tighter, with his body pressed against Rasalas'. If he had to admit, it just... felt right... as though it were the most natural thing in the world.<p>

Of course, if he really considered it, their lives were so tightly intertwined by this point, both having been the victim and the saviour. There was no way sharing such an experience did not leave its mark, create a powerful bond. No doubt, they would be life-friends at a minimum.

"I'm going to land," said Rasalas, finally, "It's well after breakfast, and my stomach's taking on a life of its own."

"Oh. Uh, right."

Rasalas pointed the broom down, and they landed on the beach.

"Kreacher," Rasalas called, softly.

_Pop_. "Master Rasalas call for Kreacher?" the elf croaked out.

"We missed breakfast. Could we get a little something?"

"Of course." Kreacher again bowed low, and popped away.

"God, you look so different," said Rasalas, "No piercings, no rings, no chains, no hat... and that mess of hair..."

"I'll be fixin' it in a hurry. Don' feel right, y'know. What happened to my rings an' shit?"

"Should be in your room. The Aurors made sure to collect all of your things from the hotel room."

"Good. Some of those rings... got sentimental value."

It was then that Kreacher returned, bringing a platter of food. Rasalas relieved him of it, and set it on the sand.

"Thank you, Kreacher. Please pass a message to Sirius that we're still out, and we'll be back about mid-afternoon."

"Of course." Kreacher again bowed low, then popped away.

The platter contained leftovers from breakfast, consisting of pancakes, boiled eggs, and bacon. There was also a small pitcher of juice, and a mug of coffee.

"Please have some."

"I feel hungry for a change," said Brady, as he sat down on the sand, and started to fix his coffee. "My bro's gon' be jealous y'know."

"I wouldn't doubt that," said Rasalas, "I'm kind of taking his place... not by intention."

Brady shrugged. "Not your fault."

"I don't want to get in the way of family. You have your mum and your brother. Your immediate family. I don't even have memories of my parents."

They fell silent as they ate. Rasalas was more than pleased to see Brady eat more than just a few bites—he cleared his plate for the first time in nearly three weeks. He'd lost a fair chunk of weight... perhaps Theresa might prescribe a nutrient potion.

Then finished, Rasalas again summoned Kreacher to take away the platter.

"Shall we get back in the air?"

* * *

><p>When they touched down on the lawn in front of the manor mid-afternoon, only Sirius seemed to be around. He noted the changed demeanour.<p>

"Feeling better, Mr. Gibson?"

"A little."

"Theresa wanted me to fire-call her as soon as you guys got back. And you both owe me an explanation as to what happened this morning."

"He had a bad nightmare," Rasalas answered, "We got it sorted."

Sirius frowned. "Which explains the bruises all over your arms."

"Thought he was tryin' to attack me."

Sirius only nodded in understanding.

"I scared him bad, he stunned me I think, an' we..."

"Brady, it's fine. Nothing permanent was done." Rasalas produced his wand, and cast a healing charm on his arm.

"Can 'ya hold off on calling Theresa? I'd like to get cleaned up."

"How long would you like?"

"Half hour?"

While Rasalas stowed his broom, Brady disappeared into the bathroom. He returned only a few moments later.

"Uh... how'd 'ya trim my beard anyway?"

"Oh. Do you trust me?"

"Yeah, 'course."

"Sirius actually taught me this one... one of those personal grooming things a wizard needs to know, right? Just... hold still."

Rasalas drew his wand, and flicked it at Brady's head, and spoke two words... Latin, if Brady was right.

"And done."

"What... Jesus Christ." Brady felt the top of his head, and it was as if he'd done it with a straight razor. He'd been shaved bald.

"Now... your beard." The same word were spoken, and Rasalas then gestured to the mirror over the dresser.

"Thank you."

"Feeling a little more normal now?"

"A little. Shower'll go a long way though. Oh. My rings an' shit."

"On the dresser in your room."

Brady left the room, and returned seconds later with his black cap, and a small box. He then collected a change of clothes from the dresser, and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he re-emerged a half-hour later, he looked almost back to normal. Dark jeans, a dark tank top, chains and piercings all back in place.

"Well?"

"Much better," Rasalas grinned.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Brady continues to recover from his ordeal; a ride on the broom turns into an impromptu aerial duel between Rasalas and Ryan; more Occlumency lessons; news arrives about a hated Hogwarts professor; Rasalas is summoned to Gringotts to pick up an unusual package; and he then has a most unusual dream, which have ramifications in the future...<em>


	17. Destiny Revealed

_Posted December 20, 2012  
><em>

_A big thank you to all of you who have posted comments, or have added "Champion of the Goddess" to your favourites. Though I do write for my own entertainment, it's fun to know you guys are enjoying it. If you've not clicked that 'favourite button', why not? Or better yet, how about leaving a comment? They are always welcome._

_This chapter brings ACT 1 to a close, and with that, this will be the last chapter I post until early January. I wish everyone a Happy Yule, a Merry Christmas, and all the best over this holiday season._

_SUMMARY: __Brady continues to recover from his ordeal; a ride on the broom turns into an impromptu aerial duel between Rasalas and Ryan; more Occlumency lessons; news arrives about a hated Hogwarts professor; Rasalas is summoned to Gringotts to pick up an unusual package; and he then has a most unusual dream, which have ramifications in the future..._

* * *

><p><strong>117. DESTINY REVEALED<br>January 14 – February 4, 2006**

"_Bottom line: God will not allow any person to keep you from your destiny. They may be bigger, stronger, or more powerful, but God knows how to shift things around and get you to where you're supposed to be."_

_- Joel Osteen_

* * *

><p>After the incident on the 14th, Brady began to open up again, no longer missing meals. What had grown into a bit of a tradition, they would go out for a ride on the brooms before or at sunrise, though now it also included Ryan and Aaron. Sometimes, Brady would bring his own broom, but more often than not, he chose to be a passenger. The airspace they could fly in was rather limited, but it didn't seem to dampen the desire to fly.<p>

The closeness between Rasalas and Brady were not missed—both Ryan and Aaron had quickly noticed it a couple of days later.

"Y'know, they do have a term for the kind of relationship you guys have, right?" Aaron smirked, as they flew just out over the water, not far from the manor one afternoon a few days later.

"And that is?" Rasalas questioned, as they slowed down.

"Bromance."

"A what?"

Brady only rolled his eyes. "Right. We ain't sleepin' together."

"You want to though," said Ryan, smirking, "It's written all over your f-f-f-face."

"Fuck off."

"Busted," Aaron grinned.

"'an someone's gonna get whooped unless he shuts 'is mouth."

Both Aaron and Ryan stuck their tongues out at Brady, then took off like a shot. Brady squeezed Rasalas' waist rather hard, making him yelp.

"Get after 'em!"

Rasalas needed no further prompting, and the chase was on. Honestly though, it wasn't exactly a fair race, considering Rasalas was a far more experienced flier. It took only a matter of seconds before he caught up to them.

"You guys are playing with fire."

Ryan smirked and drew his wand, while Aaron took over the flying. Rasalas was then forced to dive, as Ryan let fly a string of stinging hexes.

"Take over."

Brady reached around and took control of the broom, while Rasalas drew both his wands. Now, Aaron was forced to take evasive action, as Rasalas returned fire, one of his hexes missing by inches.

"Immobilus or whatever it is," Brady suggested.

Rasalas smirked, flicking his elder wand at the targets. "_Immobilus_!"

Aaron swerved just in time, while Ryan threw up a shield. Rasalas had to admit, he was impressed. "_Impedimentia_!"

Again the spell sailed by, missing by mere inches, as Aaron pressed the broom to go faster. That only caused Brady to also speed up, so the water below looked like a blur. They once again caught up, and Rasalas let fly another string of hexes—all stinging hexes.

"Aaaaah!" Aaron shouted, and it was only Ryan's fast thinking that kept them in the air. They dove sharply and away to the left, before taking off like a shot.

"God, they work well," Rasalas admitted. "Right. New strategy. Get us over land and into the tree canopy. Quickly."

Brady turned the broom around and they took off, to only a minute later descend into the copse of trees on the southern side of the manor. They then hovered just at the top of the trees.

"What're we doin'?"

"They'll come back looking for us. I'm gonna take out Aaron... uh... you don't mind getting wet?"

"My boots—"

"Drying charm. Though... between the pair of us we should stay dry anyway. Why don't you get a pair of sandals anyway. I think they'd be hot on the feet."

"Hey, I like my boots."

Rasalas gave a shrug. "Well... I can put cushioning charms on them... warming charms... cooling charms..."

"Warming charm would be nice back at the Sawyers' place. 'an maybe the cushioning charm."

"Remind me when we land. They're all basic charms."

"Hang on... there they are." Brady turned the broom so Rasalas could see. He thought for a moment, gauging the distance between them. Aaron and Ryan were still out over the water, so if they fell... it wouldn't hurt.

"All right. Aim straight for them, and go as fast as we can. I'm gonna rest my wand against your neck so they don't see it."

"May not work..." Brady was already crouching low, making his profile as small as possible. Rasalas was then forced to do the same thing, and instead tucked his wand close... he could still aim, though it would be a little more challenging.

"Ready?"

"Do it."

The acceleration was nuts, as the broom and its two riders blasted forward. From Aaron's perspective, it looked like a cannon shot, as they came streaking out of the canopy.

"_Stupefy_!" Rasalas snapped.

So startled by the bullet hurtling toward them at an insane speed, Aaron took the shot square in the chest. He fell ungracefully from the broom, to land in the water about ten feet below. The impact instantly woke him up. He gave Rasalas a rude gesture, before making for shore, a short distance away.

Now, being forced to both steer his broom and use his wand, Ryan was at a serious disadvantage. He was forced to take evasive action to avoid a head-on collision.

"You guys are n-n-nuts!" he shouted.

"Tell me something I don't already know!" Rasalas shouted back, as the two brooms again faced each other.

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Protego_!" Ryan countered, and the spell bounced harmlessly against it.

Brady once again pushed the broom forward, and they circled around. "C'mon, Ras. Take 'im out."

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Protego_!"

"_Bombarda_!"

The spell impacted the shield, but given they were in the air, it actually pushed broom and rider backward about ten feet.

"_Bombarda_!" Ryan snapped.

The streak of light flew at them, but Brady felt they could escape it by simply turning the broom. Just a bit more—

The impact sent them into a crazy tailspin, and while Brady held on for dear life, Rasalas lost his grip, and fell. Given they were so close to the water, he landed with a noisy splash, and came up sputtering. Grounded, but... if this were a real fight...

"_Stupefy_!"

"Hey! Not fff-fair!" Ryan shouted.

"And Death Eaters don't play fair either. So you got someone in the air, and someone on the ground! Keep your wits up! Brady! Same thing! What if Ryan's a Death Eater instead of a friend?!"

The fight then lasted only a few minutes. Though Ryan was somewhat impaired due to his injury, he was still able to cast magic. Brady, meanwhile, could only rely on speed and control to keep ahead of the young wizard. They rocketed up and down the beach several times, through the copse of trees, out over the water, circled the manor at least three times, then bolted back out over the water before Ryan at last caught him with a stunner. Brady fell rather ungracefully from the broom, making another noisy splash, his cap becoming dislodged and instantly floating to the surface.

Brady came up a moment later, coughing and sputtering, then found himself pulled through the water by an invisible hook toward the shore. He snagged his cap before it got lost, and jammed it back on his head.

Ryan, meanwhile, flew over to where Rasalas' broom still hovered, and collected it, before heading back to shore and landing.

"Thanks, mate," said Rasalas, "Uh, just set it down for now." He was still sitting in the water, with it coming up to just below his chest. He cancelled the summoning charm once Brady was into shallow water—about thirty feet out, as they'd found out. "You guys all did really well. An impromptu aerial combat lesson."

"Yeah... th-th-that was awesome," said Ryan.

"Gettin' stunned wasn't fun," said Brady. He had moved up alongside Rasalas, and sat the same way.

"You're saying it hurt?" Aaron questioned.

"Wakin' up under water did!"

"Oh. Right. But seriously. You guys were brilliant. Just remember that... two of you can't do magic. In a fight, if you lose us... or you're on your own broom... fly as fast as you can as far away from the fight as you can get."

"I ever get my toys here..." Brady muttered, mostly to himself.

"Non-magical weapons. Non-magical fighting skills. How much do you know?"

"How to fight? Enough."

"Considering you knocked me for a loop a few days ago. You know a wizard is completely pants without their wand, right?"

Brady looked confused. "Pants?"

Aaron, meanwhile, burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Well first what's it mean?" Brady persisted.

"It means worthless, lousy."

"Brit-speak," Aaron giggled.

"Right. So thing is, being able to fight without magic would be a good thing, see."

"Yeah, I get it. If I teach 'ya, it ain't gonna be no honourable bullshit. I'll teach 'ya how to fight dirty... how to brawl. How to survive."

"Good. That's what I want. The Death Eaters won't play fair, so why should I?"

Rasalas blew out a breath, then cupped up some water, and splashed his face.

"This was an absolute riot, guys."

"Yeah, had fun," Brady agreed, "My poor boots though..."

"Drying charm."

"Salt's not good for 'em."

"S-s-s-so why did you wear them so close to the water in the first place?"

Brady shrugged. "Wasn't thinkin'."

"Yeah, know that feeling," said Rasalas. "Next time we do this you might consider a pair of trainers instead. Drying charm and a repair charm then. And should we ever share a bed, you're forbidden from wearing them."

Brady responded by wrapping an arm around Rasalas' neck, and dragging him under the water. That promptly turned into a wrestling match.

"God, th-th-they're nuts over each other," said Ryan.

"Saved each others' life, what do you expect? And I mean, think about it, 'Ry. Brady's very sexuality's been damaged. He doesn't know what he wants any more. And Ras doesn't know what he is either. At the least, heavy bromance going on."

He smirked.

"They're having more fun than we are." Ryan suddenly found himself tackled into the water.

Sometime later, Kreacher appeared on the beach near where they had left the brooms. "Dinner is nearly ready, Master Rasalas."

Rasalas looked up from where he was sitting in the water, and only then really noticed the sun was about to sink below the tree line in the west.

"Thank you, Kreacher. We'll be in shortly." The elf bowed and popped away.

"Damn, we've been out here all afternoon... missed lunch too," Aaron realized.

"But it was wicked fun, I think we all needed to do this. Come on, let's go get cleaned up for dinner," said Rasalas, standing up.

Brady, too, stood up, the water pouring out of his soaked clothes.

"God... first time bein' dunked off a broom."

"Yeah, and you want to do it again," Rasalas grinned, as they waded out of the water and onto the shore. Once clear of the water altogether, Rasalas again drew his wand. "Right. Drying charm." An uttered word, and Brady found he was instantly dry from head to toe. Another spell and his boots felt as if he'd just bought them.

"Uh... bad idea."

"Oh. Forgot about that." The repair charm had made them as though they were brand new, not even broken in. "How about..."

Another uttered word, and now they felt comfortable... as though they fit his feet like a pair of gloves fit his hands.

"And?"

"Much better, yeah."

"How about us?" Ryan asked.

"Drying charm. Come on, you should know that one."

"Oh. Right." It took several tries, before Ryan got it right, and Aaron was dry. He then cast the charm on Rasalas, while Rasalas reciprocated, since it was a little more challenging casting the charm on themselves. Now dried off, Rasalas and Ryan collected their brooms, and the four of them headed back toward the manor.

* * *

><p>The sessions with Theresa became much more productive, with Brady nodding off to sleep on several occasions. Theresa was happy to see this; the lesson inducing sleep was a very good sign. Rasalas had progressed beyond that, of course, now knowing to focus on continuing to calm all thoughts, with the final objective to have his mind void of all thought. He'd been able to do it only twice so far, but once again, Theresa only continued to encourage them.<p>

Brady also began to spend more time away from Rasalas, namely spending it with his brother and mother. They, too, were more than glad his condition had improved. He was gaining his weight back, and no longer looked haunted.

* * *

><p><em>January 20<em>

Kate once again visited the manor, bringing yet another newspaper. The top part of it was taken up by an enormous picture of a rather ugly witch being led away from Hogwarts, with magic-suppressing bracelets on her wrists. By all intents and purposes, she resembled a large toad.

_HOGWARTS PROFESSOR ARRESTED ON OVER 70 CHARGES; INSTRUMENT OF TORTURE USED ON STUDENTS_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and Hogwarts High Inquisitor Delores Umbridge was arrested yesterday for allegedly bringing an instrument of torture into the school, and then subjecting a number of students to it. Thus far the number of charges have topped 70, and is expected to rise, as victims are being encouraged to step forward. A raid of the High Inquisitor's private quarters at the school uncovered at least ten blood quills, items which are forbidden by the international body, except in the case of signing important binding contracts and other such agreements._

_The arrest was carried out yesterday evening, after educators from the American Department of Magic made a quiet inspection of both Madam Umbridge's classes, and her detentions. It was carried out over four days from the beginning of the week. Madam Umbridge is now being detained in an American Department holding cell, the location being unknown as we went to print._

_An insider close to the minister's office has stated, "The minister had no idea [Madam Umbridge] was using an instrument of torture, and by no means does he condone her actions. She was asked to inspect the school and its instructors, not to bring about pain and suffering to the next generation of witches and wizards; her actions are deplorable and have no place either at the school, or at the ministry._

"_The minister is consulting his advisors before taking any sort of action, but it should be noted that some sort of action will be taken in reaction to [Madam Umbridge's] questionable conduct."_

_When asked for a statement regarding the arrest being carried out by Aurors from the American Department of Magic, the insider only said, "We have no comment at this time, as we are still consulting advisers on the matter as a whole."_

_Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was unavailable for comment, but Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall went on record saying, "The woman was a menace to the school as a whole, enacting terrible decrees and edicts, and we issue a heartfelt thank you to our American counterparts for righting the wrong forced on us by the Ministry. We will be working to undo some of the damage she has caused, with the hope that no lasting harm has been done to our future generation..."_

"No lasting harm? Are they _mad!_? Ron's hand looks like someone took an exacto knife to it!" Rasalas snarled, throwing the paper down. They were again gathered up on the verandah, though now joined by Ryan and Aaron. Aaron was working on grade 11 English, while Ryan studied from a first-year herbology textbook. Brady, meanwhile, had one of his journals out, and was sketching something.

"How long will she get? For usin' the blood quill?" Brady questioned.

"It's five years for each offence. Just possessing one, it can be anywhere between two and ten years," said Kate, "She'll be lucky if she sees the outside of Azkaban before she passes on."

Rasalas blew out a breath. "At least she's been stopped. Wicked witch... didn't even last the year. And what Ron told me... we've had a different Dark Arts Defence professor for every year."

"That's no way to get proper lessons."

"Ron says our best year was our third. Another friend of dad's, Remus Lupin. But someone let slip he was a werewolf and he was forced to resign."

Brady furrowed his brows. "Werewolves? Really?"

"I don't remember Remus... but apparently he is one."

"Perfectly safe, save for the day of the full moon," Kate explained, "It would be all right for him to visit, as long as he has a special potion the day of the full moon. We treat it like an illness in Canada."

"If he taught Dark Arts Defence... m-m-m-maybe he might like to tutor us here," Ryan suggested.

"Wait. A real werewolf," Brady persisted.

"Exactly as in legend, Mr. Gibson."

"Not sure whether to be curious or terrified."

"If he was friends with my dad, he's probably a really cool person. At minimum I do plan on getting into contact. And I like Ryan's suggestion," said Rasalas.

He thought for a moment. "Y'know. Hogwarts is said to have some of the most powerful wards in the magical world. They're supposed to be tied to the headmaster, right. So question: how is it that Umbridge managed to get a banned dark object past those wards, without the headmaster knowing?"

"One enemy at a time, Ras," said Brady. "Dumbledore's a problem, but Voldemort's dangerous, right?"

"True. Still, Kate, can you start pulling some of that kind of thing together? I mean, stuff like the wards... Ron says there's been more than a few examples where I nearly died while in the school. I almost have to think he was testing me or something."

"I'll farm it off to some interns."

"Good. It's not a priority."

"Yes, next piece of business. Your property back in Ontario. You need to sit down with an architect, so we can line up a builder. We could go with a magical contractor, or keep it non-magical, it's up to you."

"If I hire a magical contractor, how non-magical will the place look?"

"That's up to you."

"Good. I kind of like Ryan's place. I'd like to do something similar. So my place looks like it belongs there, see."

"Ah. I see where you're going. And yes, it can most certainly be done."

"Magical builder... how different?" Brady wondered.

"Magical techniques, and they incorporate magical elements into the building. They will also design things in such a way that electric or electronic devices work without interference."

"Then it looks like I'm going with a magical builder," Rasalas decided, "Ryan's parents gave me a new notebook computer and I don't dare open it here because of magical interference."

"All right. I'll get started on that. If everything works out okay, we should be able to get construction started in the middle of March, or the beginning of April at the latest."

She then pulled out another stack of parchment from her portfolio.

"Mr. Gibson, you'll be pleased to know you won't be required to attend the trial for your assailants; the statement and pensieve testimony are more than sufficient."

"When's the trial?"

"Likely early next month. The crown attorney's office is still reviewing all of the case material."

"Did they make bail?" Rasalas questioned.

"It was outright denied, as is the case in most serious crimes dealt with in a magical court," Kate explained, "I've been on the short end of such proceedings more often than I would like."

"Sounds like you don't win very many cases in the magical world," Aaron guessed.

"Outright in the courtroom, no. Dealing with a client being prosecuted in the magical world, we try and win a lesser sentence."

"Plea bargain."

"Yes, exactly, such as what happened with Dumbledore. Depending on the severity of the crime, the crown may agree to lesser charges. Cases involving murder or other serious crimes, it almost always goes to trial."

"'an the bitches responsible... it's goin' to trial."

"Yes. Just the charge of attacking a wizard, that sort of sealed it. Non-magical people outnumber us about one hundred to one. So we take it very seriously, as I've mentioned before."

"I still want them ruined," said Rasalas, "I don't care what kind of prison sentence they end up with. You don't attack a dear friend of mine and not suffer consequences."

Aaron smirked. "Beware of Ras."

* * *

><p><em>February 2<em>

Though Brady continued to improve emotionally, he still certainly had bad days, as Theresa warned he would. His twenty-sixth birthday was one of them. Rasalas had great difficulty just coaxing him out of bed, never mind getting him to eat something.

Knowing it was going to be one of _those_ days, Rasalas warned everyone he would need extra space, and perhaps to postpone any sort of celebration until the weekend. The others, his mother and brother most of all, were disappointed, but it was known that trying to force matters only made it worse.

Most of the morning, then, was spent on the verandah. The day's classes had been cancelled as it was, with the plan to take a port key to the magical community in Port-au-Prince. With that cancelled, Rasalas resigned himself to staying close. There would be other chances to visit a foreign wizarding community.

After lunch, of which Brady ate only a few bites, Rasalas managed to convince him to go for a broom ride. It was one thing Brady was willing to do, no matter how he was feeling. They were gone until Rasalas could no longer ignore his stomach growling; whether or not Brady was hungry, Rasalas needed to eat.

They again retreated to the verandah, and while Rasalas had something to eat, Brady asked for a beer.

"'ya don't need to stay 'round."

"No. But I want to," Rasalas answered, quietly, between bites. "No matter what, I like your company. Even when it's more like hugging a cactus."

That earned a grin out of Brady, though it only lasted a moment or two.

That was the way they stayed for the rest of the evening. Ryan and Aaron joined them sometime later, as did Corey.

"Y'know one thing we need, is a p-p-p-proper fire pit," said Ryan.

"Or we just do it down on the beach," said Aaron.

"No comfortable chairs though."

"That's what blankets are for. B-b-but we also have magic. We can just make chairs."

That got a nod from Rasalas. "True. Thing is, Mr. Cactus over here isn't up to moving all that far today. It was a colossal production just getting him out of bed this morning, never mind getting him to eat."

Corey chuckled. "Good one."

"Mr. Cactus... that's funny."

"Well, we could t-t-t-transfigure him into one."

Brady shot Ryan a glare, while Rasalas shook his head. "That's N.E.W.T. level transfiguration. Over my head still. I mean, I know it's possible. Ron says that Professor McGonagall turned a desk into a pig during our first class with her."

"Did it... squeal an' everything?" asked Corey.

"I don't know. I don't remember, right? You'll have to ask Ron and Hermione."

The evening grew late, and eventually, only Rasalas and Brady remained. Rasalas knew he'd once again made a mistake, having far too many beer. He would feel it in the morning—never mind, he was feeling it right then. 'Too young to be drinking that much', he scolded himself.

"C'mon... time for sleep," Rasalas mumbled, standing. The world threatened to tilt sideways, but he steadied himself.

"Sleep here."

"No. Bed's better. I'll carry you if I have to," Rasalas threatened.

"You in no shape to be carryin' anythin'."

Brady grabbed Rasalas by the wrist, and pulled, causing Rasalas to fall on top of Brady.

"What in..."

"Not makin' it to bed," Brady whispered.

"And you're not helpin'." God, the world was spinning most uncomfortably. "C'mon. This ain't comfortable. Kreacher?"

_Pop_. "Master call for Kreacher?"

"Help us to bed, please."

"Of course."

In a flash, they were both sprawled out on Rasalas' bed, though they still remained dressed. Thank God for small favours. It was weird as it was!

"Uh... not quite what I had in mind," Rasalas muttered, making to get up—though it was questionable how he would make it to his feet, let alone cross the room. Brady, though, wrapped an arm around his midsection and pulled him back down.

"N-no... i's fine. Sleep."

Rasalas arched an eyebrow, but let out a sigh. His head felt too big to protest. His best friend. Good grief, what would the others say? The room was spinning... needed sleep... but closing his eyes only made the spinning worse.

"Never... trying... to keep up... with you... again," he vowed.

* * *

><p>Next thing he knew, there was a knock at the door. His head still felt way too big, and without thinking, he called, "Come in!"<p>

He heard the door open, and footsteps told him someone had entered. The door shut.

"Maybe I should have sent Kreacher," said Sirius.

"Not so loud," he heard Brady mutter... from beside him?

Rasalas cracked an eye open, and then realized their current state. Brady was still beside him, an arm slinked across his midsection.

"Though I by no means disapprove, how did this happen?"

"Kreacher," Rasalas muttered, "I summoned him and asked him to help us to bed. Nutty elf... not quite what I had in mind. D'you mind fetching us a headache-relieving draught and a stomach-calming draught from the cupboard?"

Sirius crossed the room, and collected the requested potions from the cupboard. "Need to replace your supply, kiddo."

"What time is it?"

"You both missed breakfast. Theresa is waiting, and a letter arrived from Gringotts for you." He passed over the potions, and waited while Rasalas and Brady took them.

"Much better."

Rasalas grinned. "God, this was awkward."

"Anyone else would've got their ass whooped," Brady promised.

"Aw, come on, Kreacher meant well," Rasalas smirked.

"Behave, pup. Theresa's waiting."

"Tell her we'll be along shortly."

"All right. And I'll have Kreacher put something out for you to eat."

"Uh, yeah... whatever was breakfast," Brady agreed.

"Oh. You plan on eating today, then."

"Fuck off."

Sirius only grinned, and left the room.

"Crap. If Theresa's waiting... no time for a shower. Think we both smell like a brewery."

Rasalas produced his wand, and cast a cleaning charm on himself. Then with permission, did the same for Brady.

"'ya don't have to ask."

"It's a courtesy. And whatever you do... never let someone point their wand at you unless you know them... and even so. It's like someone pointing a gun at you."

Brady gave a nod. "Yeah, makes sense."

Rasalas smirked. "You broke the rules by the way."

"How so?"

"You wore your boots while sleeping in my bed."

"Blame your crazy house elf."

While Brady met with Theresa privately, Rasalas opened the letter from Gringotts. It wasn't unusual these days, since he had asked to informed more frequently of affairs concerning his estate. The Potter estate did have a number of ongoing investments, for example. The letter he received, however, was unusual.

_Mr. Black,_

_Just yesterday, a package was delivered to our Diagon Alley branch. It was addressed to 'The Peverell heir'. It is unlikely you are aware, but you are that heir, through your father's blood line. Instructions delivered with the package specify that you must visit one of our branches in person in order to collect the item, as the contents are sensitive in nature. An agent or representative is not acceptable._

_Sincerely,_

_Valak,_

_Estates and Inheritances,_

_Gringotts, Diagon Alley Branch_

Well now. The Peverell family. He would have to make a few enquiries about them. But... if there was something at Gringotts from them... it looked like he would need to travel to the bank, perhaps that afternoon. Sirius would have to join him... and come to think of it, it might be a damned good idea. Bill, too, maybe... if he could be pulled away from whatever it was he was doing. Didn't he have a desk job with the bank anyway?

* * *

><p>The trip to Gringotts took less than a half hour, and he made the trip alone—Sirius had a meeting at the ministry, and so could only provide him the transportation there and back. Realizing the bank had already done a cursory scan for dangerous contents, Rasalas decided not to bother Bill with it. Now back at the manor, he carried the package up to his room to open it.<p>

Stepping into the room, he found Brady was at the drawing table, some of his notebooks spread open. That was encouraging.

"Writing?"

"Yeah, a little. Got your package from Gringotts?"

"Yes. I'm about to open it," said Rasalas, as he set the package on the floor. It was easily two feet cubed, wrapped in brown paper.

"So this' from an ancestor or somethin'."

"I don't know of them, but yes. Sirius doesn't know, but... I'll have Kate look into it. I would bother Hermione, if she wasn't deep into review for her O.W.L.s."

Rasalas produced his wand, and vanished the brown paper, revealing an ordinary cardboard box. Not wanting to just drop whatever it was on the floor, he used a cutting charm to cut the seal, and pulled open the flaps.

"What in the world?"

"Woah."

Rasalas pulled out the contents. Along with a sealed envelope, there was a sphere about the size of a Quaffle (or a little larger than a soccer ball, for those not familiar with Quidditch). It appeared to be made of crystal, obsidian in colour, and save for two ends, it was completely covered in very tiny symbols. As soon as Rasalas set it on the floor, it instantly settled itself to sit upright, with one of the bare spots at the top.

"Thought you went—holy shit. What is that?" Both Ryan and Aaron now stood in the doorway leading out onto the verandah.

"I have no clue," Rasalas answered, "But this is what was waiting for me at Gringotts. Hang on... maybe the letter will give us an idea."

Rasalas broke the seal on the envelope, and began to read the letter inside. It proved to be rather short, with rather brief instructions:

_Set the orb on the floor, preferably against a wall, and touch it once with your wand. Access will be provided, and within, more detailed instructions will be found. The features of this device will prove useful to you in the coming days, weeks, months, and perhaps, years._

"Well? What's it say?" asked Brady.

"Confusing, but... well..."

Rasalas looked around a moment, then picked up the sphere, then set it down on the floor in the corner of the room, and tapped it once with his wand. The sphere shimmered a brilliant blue for a moment, before a pair of glowing lines zipped out from the sphere, along the baseboard, up the wall, then crossed and met, marking out a rectangle on the wall. That then shimmered a yellow shade, before forming into a wooden door that matched the rest of the house. The sphere itself disappeared.

"Bloody hell... No one go near it, I need to make a fire-call."

He started for the door, then stopped.

"Crap. Sirius is at the ministry for a meeting."

"Rasalas. If it's from an ancestor... would they really give you something that was dangerous?" Aaron questioned, "Think about it."

"Well..."

Brady started making chicken noises.

"Really?"

"He did m-m-make a great canary," said Ryan.

"If this thing kills me, I'm coming back from the dead to personally haunt all of you," Rasalas promised.

"It's a door, Ras."

Rasalas huffed, but kept his wand in front of him. He gingerly reached out and gripped the door handle... and when nothing happened, he turned it, and pushed the door open.

His immediate thought, was disappointment. The room had to be eight foot square, with no decoration and plain off-white paint. The wall directly opposite the door had a large fireplace, once again of rather plain decor. Along the left wall, was a single bed, with a large chest at the foot of it. Opposite that, was a table with four chairs. Against the door-side wall, was a shelf with a few books on it, and the table had a set of journals on it. On top of that stack, was another sealed letter.

"Damn. That ball had this in it?" Brady was somewhat impressed.

"It's just a room."

"'an it wasn't here a second ago now, was it?"

"Brady's got a point," said Aaron, "Holy shit."

Wand still gripped tightly in his hand, Rasalas dared enter the non-descript room that had appeared from the sphere. By his sense, it felt incredibly... ordinary. If anything, it felt like it could have come out of an average, non-magical house. The Sawyers', even.

"C'mon, Ras... has to be a r-r-r-reason you got this."

"There's another note," said Rasalas, taking a seat at the plain table. He picked up the letter, broke the seal, and began to read silently to himself. The others took up the other seats.

"Bloody hell. This... this sounds fantastic!" he finally said, "All right... everyone stand a sec... gonna try something."

When everyone stood up, Rasalas seemed to concentrate on something for several seconds—

The entire room seemed to shift right before their eyes, becoming more round, taller, the bland paint and the floor morphing into stonework, the fireplace becoming much larger, more ornate. Red and gold tapestries began to emerge, along with a number of squishy, comfortable couches and chairs before the fire, and the table they had been seated at changed, becoming a bit larger, but much older.

"H-holy flying _fuck_," Aaron finally managed.

"Let's s-s-sit, before you fall over, Aaron."

"Good idea. Oh my god, this... just, wow."

"W-w-well, you have to admit, magic's pretty cool, huh?"

Brady, meanwhile, looked around the room, still held speechless at what he'd just seen. He'd certainly experienced truly powerful magic in the past few months, but this once again topped it.

"Jesus Christ," he finally managed.

"So this place c-c-c-can turn into anything," Ryan guessed.

"According to the letter here. So yeah, now I'm impressed. Can't wait to show this to Hermione. She'll go spare."

That got a giggle out of Aaron, as they all sat down on the more comfortable couches in front of the fire.

"So question. The fireplace work with the floo network?" Brady wondered.

"Well..."

"There was a fireplace in the room when we came in," Aaron remembered.

"Look. Th-th-that looks like floo powder," said Ryan, pointing to the pot hanging at the side of the fireplace. Rasalas went over to it, and reached into it, pulling out a pinch of fine powder.

"We have a floo connection. I'll need to have Sirius set the wards." Rasalas pointed his wand at the fire, and put it out. "I don't know what kind of wards are on it right now, and I'd rather us not get unwanted visitors."

"This place is awesome," said Aaron, "But what else can we do with it? I mean, it has to have a purpose, right?"

"M-m-maybe the journals will tell us more," Ryan suggested.

"You guys mind giving me a hand?"

* * *

><p>Word very quickly spread about the strange room that had been magically added to the manor. The reaction was fairly typical. Sirius was rather impressed, noting it then looked like a close replica of the Gryffindor common room back at Hogwarts.<p>

Both Casey and Betty were astounded, facing yet another rather blatant display of magic. However, neither stayed all that long, given it was late in the afternoon, and although Kreacher could most certainly see to the evening meal, both mothers wished to maintain some sort of normalcy.

Corey, meanwhile, volunteered to help out with the research. There were at least eight journals present, likely containing information that was relevant to the magical object Rasalas now owned. With an extra pair of eyes, it meant less time needed to comb through it all.

After a break for dinner, they were back at it. As Rasalas discovered in the journal he read, the earliest known record of the object dated back to 400CE. Still, that didn't explain what the place was for. It was truly remarkable magic, but... he already had a roof over his head—several if he really thought about it. His godfather owned a dozen or so properties, as did the Potter estate. He hadn't even looked to see what sort of properties they were, or where they were for that matter. So an extra room?

It was going on three in the morning before they finally gave it up for the night. His eyes were fatigued from so much reading, and he felt physically tired—the previous nights' drinking hadn't helped matters. He felt about ready to collapse, and it was only great effort that saw him undressed and properly under the covers.

Only barely awake, he felt the opposite side of the bed sag, as someone sat down.

"No boots," Rasalas mumbled, and it was the last thing he remembered before finding the bliss of sleep.

_The black corridor again. He reached out a hand... almost there. Great anticipation filled his mind, as his hand closed around the door knob, and began to turn it..._

The vision faded. Gone was the door, the black-tiled corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. In fact, the place he found himself in held no shape whatsoever, just a void. Was he still dreaming?

He lay... or floated, maybe, for what seemed like several minutes, before a ghostly shape began to form a short distance away. If he had to guess, the person was female, and, confirmed, as a voice began:

"The world is in grave danger."

"I... may I ask who you are?" He decided to go with being polite.

"I am the mother Goddess."

Rasalas was too shocked to respond, and so the avatar continued, "The one you were prophesied to meet one day in final battle... will attempt to gain access to something no one of your world has the rights to. Such action will lead to a catastrophic series of events, events that will have devastating consequences for each and every thing that lives."

"How? Why? I... this isn't making a whole lot of sense... err... your grace. How—what is he planning to do?"

"He plans to wield the power of Avalon itself, against the very earth it is borne of. Does that make any sense?"

Rasalas thought for a moment. "If Avalon is the well of the earth's magic... I think so. It would be like... short-circuiting a battery... I think. So a massive magical backlash."

"Very good. And if that should take place, as I have already stated, terrible consequences will be in store."

The goddess gave a wave of her hand, and a spherical image appeared, of a large aircraft slamming into the ground in an explosion of debris and fire. Another, of Tokyo completely dark, with very few lights. Another, this time another plane crashing.

"The magical backlash will cause a massive magnetic storm that will circle the planet in minutes. The electrical distribution grid will be damaged in many places. And worse still..."

She gestured again, and the spherical image changed, this time showing what appeared to be a nuclear explosion in London.

"Bloody hell..."

"The magical backlash will cause massive geological upheaval, and the earth's crust itself will destabilize. This will impact every living thing of my creation, Harry."

"But... why are you telling me this? I'm only a man—barely a man, I mean. I should be fifteen, yet I feel I'm going on twenty."

"Of course. The attack on your person five months ago. You do agree that magic can work in truly wondrous ways, yes?"

"As I continue to learn, yeah."

"The goblin-made enchantment you were given modified both your appearance and your age, did it not?"

"Yeah."

"A different sort of magical backlash took place when you were attacked, one of which was the absorption of the enchantment."

"So not only my appearance but my age are permanent," Rasalas guessed.

"Yes. Exactly. But we stray from course. You are but one person, yes, but with the right training and the right allies, you can make all the difference in the world. Do you also agree?"

"Well... maybe. But... why me?"

"It was what you were born to do, Harry."

"Says who? My parents were the heroes, not me."

"And yes, you did vanquish Tom Riddle over fourteen years ago. But there is more you must do, if the world... my creation and all its children... are to survive."

"But... I mean..."

"With the exception of a few—such as Ryan and his mother—the people have forgotten my name, forgotten my face, have become deaf to my voice. With your help, the world will once again know me, and perhaps we shall restore the balance your world so desperately needs."

"What... what do I need to do? What can I do? I say it again, I'm just one man. How will you help me?"

"Knowledge, and training. Though you will not learn directly from me, for that would be forbidden. Instead, you will receive lessons from those who follow me. Getting there, I'm afraid, will not be easy. However, I trust you will find a way, and I will provide you with ample clues. I know you have a number of strong allies already gathered around you, and they will most certainly help you get there."

"I'm still confused as to why... you can't just... well..."

"Just doing as much as I do now, I overstep. _All_ of you are my children, and a parent cannot be seen playing favourites; doing so upsets the balance. It is no different than the sort of damage Tom Riddle threatens to cause, attempting to access and wield power he has no right to. Does that make any sense?"

"Uh, sort of."

"It's all about maintaining the balance. Tom Riddle presents perhaps one of the most dire threats in over a thousand years, and he _must_ be stopped."

Now, Rasalas understood where the Great Mother was coming from.

"Very well. I will become your champion," said Rasalas, bowing his head.

There came a blinding flash, with her fading voice, "Good luck, Mr. Black!"

**_END OF ACT I_**

"_The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself."_

_- C. JoyBell C._

* * *

><p><em>CHAPTER NOTES: So Harry gets his marching orders. The question now, what does this 'chamber' have to do with it? And of course, now we also understand why Harry's not quite a teenager any more. Yeah, magical backlash can have some interesting effects sometimes. And why is Brady acting strangely?<em>

_We now move into the second act, titled, "Growth", in which we see Harry and his allies grow spiritually, physically in some cases, magical in others, and most definitely, for Harry, politically. New allies will be met, as will new enemies. Triumphs and tragedy will follow on a number of fronts, culminating in another showdown at the ministry, and a segway into Act 3._


	18. Fury of the Earth

**ACT II: GROWTH**

"_Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. It may mean giving up familiar but limiting patterns, safe but unrewarding work, values no longer believed in, and relationships that have lost their meaning."_

_- John C. Maxwell_

* * *

><p><em>Posted Jan 11, 2015<br>_

_SUMMARY: News is received about Brady's attackers; Rasalas/Harry makes progress learning Occlumency; and Rasalas/Harry and his new friends learn a few important things about the artefact he's inherited—mostly through research, but one through a catastrophic event._

* * *

><p><strong>201. FURY OF THE EARTH<br>February 3 – March 24, 2006**

"_God's interventions are miracles: events that cannot happen by merely natural agents but only by a supernatural agent. They no more interfere with our free will than natural events like earthquakes. We choose how to respond to them."_

_- Peter Kreeft_

* * *

><p>The orb and its magical chamber became a massive distraction. Rasalas found it very difficult to focus on his classes, as they tried to work out what the room was truly capable of. He'd made a very quick decision to for now keep his very odd dream to himself, given his more frequent experience with odd dreams and visions.<p>

However, he now knew what he had to do, what was expected of him. Somehow, the orb and its extraordinary room had something to do with it, that's what his gut said.

It was February 8 when they made the first major discovery. Rasalas stepped into the magical room after his last lesson of the day, to find both Aaron and Ryan, looking rather excited.

"Ras... y-y-you got here just in time. Look at what Aaron f-f-f-found."

Ryan gestured to the open journal on the table. Rasalas picked it up.

"_Collecting the control orb,_" Rasalas read, "_To pick up the control orb, tap the door or access hatch created by the orb three times with your wand or other such item you use as a focus. After each tap, make a circular motion with your focus or wand, thinking or intoning, 'Retract'. This will dispel the door or hatch, and return the control orb._"

"Sounds easy enough," said Ryan.

"Oh. Better still. Collecting the orb, while retaining the created access door or hatch..." Rasalas read the passage to himself.

"Well?"

"Almost identical, except that the wand motion is an upward flick after each tap... oh... now this is interesting."

Rasalas produced his wand, and flicked it at the door. "_Geminio_."

There came a light clunk, as another obsidian-coloured orb dropped to the floor in the doorway. Almost immediately after, there was a second clunk, as a red-coloured orb dropped beside it.

"Geminio?" asked Ryan.

"Duplication spell. It usually only produces useless copies of stuff, but in this case, it's a command to the room. The two orbs it just produced, they make a matching set of doors. The red one gets set up here, and the black-coloured one gets set up... well... wherever we want it."

"Then we can p-p-p-put a door at my place, so Ma can c-c-come and go."

"After. I think we need Bill to come have a look first. We put a door at your place and this isn't secure, it... you get where I'm going," said Rasalas. "I'm not saying 'no', I just want to make sure we're not doing something foolish."

It was after dinner before Bill was able to visit the manor. After Rasalas demonstrated being able to change the room, the curse breaker quickly understood what he was seeing.

"There's a room at Hogwarts that works like this," he said, "The Room of Requirement. Though, once you close the door with it empty, it resets."

"How common is shit like this?" asked Corey. Both he and his brother had spent the afternoon with their mother, and so only now were learning of the new development.

"Somewhat rare, actually, and it's a real shame. All of you have to remember, this is truly advanced magic. Whoever made it was a very skilled witch or wizard. And perhaps it was enchanted by more than one person," Bill explained, "Dimensional pockets are pretty advanced in themselves, but to pull off something like this, it's above and beyond that yet again. This is the realm of the Department of Mysteries."

"So our next quandary. How durable are the doors into this place? And what kind of wards does it have—how durable is the place as a whole?"

"Ah. I see what you're getting at. I'll need all of you to step outside before I start those sorts of tests. And I might suggest taking anything out that you don't want to lose. If this blows up..."

"Right."

The tests ate away a good part of the evening, while Bill poked and prodded at the wards (figuratively, of course), the floo connection, and the entrance to the room itself. With Rasalas' help, it was determined that the room and the door leading into it were by all intents and purposes, indestructible. Bill had resorted to using some rather questionable spells toward the end, all of them not leaving a mark on the entrance.

It was also learned that, when locked, only the person who locked it or the orb's owner could unlock it.

"Rasalas, you could put a door wherever you like, I think," said Bill, "However, I would encourage you to make sure some sort of security exists on the other end, just to be extra-cautious."

Brady scowled. "So no we we's puttin' a door at my place."

"No. C'mon, you know it wouldn't be safe."

Now sure the connection wouldn't compromise security, Rasalas set up the door in the magical room. Bill was more than curious to see how it would actually work, and so had stuck around.

Rasalas then had his godfather produce a port key back to the Sawyers. Once back at the house, he then placed the mate to the door in his assigned room, though it took him a minute or so to free up some wall space. Then, the moment of truth. He turned the door handle, and pulled it open.

"That's freakin' awesome!" Ryan exclaimed, "Where d-d-did you put the... well, the mate?"

"In my room for now. We can move it later, right?"

"Still, Ma's gonna be g-g-glad, right?"

Rasalas couldn't help but grin. "No doubt there. Well? You wanna tell her, or shall I?"

"N-n-no, it's good, I'll go find her." Ryan was gone through the door that accessed the manor.

"So, uh, y'could put one of those door things back where you come from," Corey guessed.

"I would think Rasalas could put doors in a number of locations, and they'd all work about the same," said Bill.

Aaron couldn't help but smirk. "Gonna need to put clocks above the doors then. Don't wanna drop in on someone at the wrong hour."

"We'll worry about that later... though it's a good idea," Rasalas decided.

It was then Ryan returned with his mother in tow. She immediately noticed the new door, and the shock was more than apparent.

"Good grief."

"It should make things easier for you to come and go, Mrs. Sawyer," said Rasalas, "It's something we learned earlier, but I wanted Bill to be sure it was safe first."

"I see. My word." She stepped through, to stand in Rasalas' room back at the house, but turned around. "This is astounding!"

"I somehow think we've only seen a small slice of it," said Rasalas.

* * *

><p>With a connection established back to the Sawyers, Betty decided she liked the normalcy that came with the nearly-non-magical home, and so moved into the room that had been used by Sirius. Given that Phil spent most of the day in the shop, Casey welcomed the company.<p>

The connection also meant that the Aurors providing security at the manor could also come and go as needed, rather than Sirius providing them with port keys. It did mean less privacy, but given Brady rarely slept on his side of the room anymore, it was just a matter of putting up a privacy screen. Of course, they could have put the door somewhere else in the house, but at this point, it was a matter of convenience.

Rasalas, meanwhile, saw yet another change to his daily activities, as Sirius began to teach him how to Apparate, and how to make port keys. This typically took place immediately following his Occlumency lesson, since having a clear mind improved the chance of success when it came to Apparition.

* * *

><p><em>February 15<em>

Kate found Rasalas mid-afternoon, just after his Charms tutor left.

"Where is Mr. Gibson? I have some news."

"He's with his brother helping Mr. Sawyer in the shop."

"Oh. Well... I need to see him. It's about the trial."

Rasalas was immediately worried. "What happened?"

"Oh nothing to worry about. Five convictions. They're going to Azkaban for a long time. Fifty years each, when the various sentences are added up."

"Good. Good, Brady will be glad to hear that I think. Thank you for all your work."

"How is he as of late?"

"Almost back to his old self, I think. So this piece of news should help even further. Though... even with the convictions, I still want to see them ruined."

"The convictions will most definitely help with the civil case. Though it may be a challenge to get your family laws put into practice here. And from what I'm able to gather from English records, it's been a long time since the sort of punitive action has been taken there. At least two hundred years."

"But not impossible."

"No, just very difficult. It'll take a bit of luck, and a sympathetic judge."

"Hmm... I'll probably curse myself for making this suggestion later... but... play the _Boy-who-lived_ card. Remind people who I am, what I represent."

Kate gave a nod. "That may get you something indeed. Just be aware, that sort of thing could come back to haunt you."

"I know. I made a promise to a friend though, and I want to see it fulfilled."

"You really care for him."

"He sleeps with me most of the time y'know. God, it's weird, I know, but..."

"Do you—"

"Oh _hell_ no!" Rasalas felt his face get very hot, and knew it had gone beet red. He sucked in a breath trying to tame his now wildly thumping chest. "Good God, I think if I suggested that kind of thing, he'd clobber me."

"Ah, of course. I didn't mean to pry."

"Our friendship is... complicated," Rasalas confessed, "Forged by a series of disasters I guess."

"This is true. Now I'm sure Theresa has likely raised the question, but what happens when he's able to travel again?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Rasalas answered, "And quite honestly, it's not gonna be any time soon. I know his record label's been calling, but... really. I have no hope of taking on Voldemort right now... likely not even in the next year.

"Brady knows he's gonna be here for a while... just like his mum and his brother. Practically refugees here."

"That makes a lot of sense. And yet it won't be all that healthy for you all to be confined here, I need not point that out, right?"

"Lots of discussions ongoing with Auror Jackson. Even once my house is finished, it doesn't expand things all that much. And I know Brady's itching to get back on his bike. He says he'd still be out on it if he were home."

"Yes, considering it doesn't get all that cold where he's from," Kate remembered.

She then noticed the opened envelope on the table beside Rasalas' chair. He caught her glance.

"Hermione sent me a letter. Seems Dumbledore still can't get things right, and the ministry appointed another lackey to teach Dark Arts Defence—Ron's older brother Percy."

"Rasalas. At least your friends aren't being tortured."

"They may all fail their Dark Arts Defence O.W.L.! Never mind seventh years who need to pass their N.E.W.T.s!" Rasalas sucked in a breath. "God, just at a loss as to what to do."

"To be honest, I don't know what to tell you. At this point, we don't have any sort of legal recourse."

"It's substandard teaching!"

"And you'll agree, there are plenty of problems with the teaching at Hogwarts as a whole, am I right?"

"Yeah, this is true."

"Legally, there isn't anything we can do. They aren't doing anything illegal, and even if so, if it doesn't violate any international laws, we don't have any leverage."

* * *

><p><em>February 24<em>

With the manor now being connected to the Sawyers, and Rasalas' review schedule becoming tighter, research into the capabilities of the orb had become somewhat slower. However, progress was still made, and this time it was Ryan who discovered the next piece of the puzzle.

_Permitting others to control the chamber_

_Caution should be used when granting one such rights, as the individual will have all of the same powers of the owner, with only a few restrictions—the owner will always have final authority, and his access can never be revoked. _

_To grant another person authority over the chamber, have him stand before the primary entrance into the chamber, and have him place a hand on the door. With the left hand placed on his head, place your right hand on the door beside his, speaking, '__imperium permiserit'._

"Sounds simple enough," said Rasalas, as he finished reading. "Since you discovered it... and if you don't mind... I'll give you control rights and you can try it out."

"Y-y-you sure? I mean... I don't want to screw it up."

"Ryan. I trust you. You guys have been really cool with me staying with you, right?"

They both stepped over to the door which led back into the manor. Rasalas pushed it closed, and Ryan put his right hand on the door, while Rasalas then put his left hand on his head, according to the instructions. He then placed his right hand on the door beside Ryan's, and spoke "_Imperium Permiserit_".

There came a purple flash of light, and Ryan felt a warm tingle surge from head to toe.

"Well? Give it a try," Rasalas encouraged him, "Keep it simple for now."

Ryan shut his eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the tapestries became a powder-blue shade.

"Excellent. That can be a useful thing."

"I'll ask before I do anything," Ryan promised, "L-l-last thing we want is everything to blow up b-b-becuase we got carried away."

"Yeah, anything big, let me know first."

"So does it tell how to take them rights away again?" Corey asked. As had become a typical evening, it was the younger crowd gathered in the magical room, with the rest of the house gathered elsewhere, typically in the great room, or up on the verandah. Late February still meant cold in Southern Ontario, and both the Sawyers more than appreciated the ability to escape it, without forking out a small fortune.

"Uh... yeah. It's an identical... well... ritual, except the incantation. 'iura revocare'. Huh... isn't that interesting. It says, 'he does not have to be conscious for this to be done'."

"Expectin' trouble," said Brady, "In case whoever it is ain't cooperatin'."

"Exactly. Oh. And it also says that access is also revoked should the person become deceased."

"Thank-you, _Captain Obvious_," Aaron snorted.

"Actually... not as obvious as you might think," said Rasalas, "Ghosts most definitely exist, and I can ask Sirius if you doubt it; he can back it up with pensieve memories."

Brady looked at him funny. "Seriously?"

"I swear it."

"Why'd someone want to?"

"You'll have to ask them. I guess... some people choose to. But I don't know the answer."

"And you?" Corey asked.

"What... remain as a ghost? No. I'd rather pass on. Greet my parents in the afterlife. And to be honest, I hope it's a long time before I do."

"B-b-but we really don't get that choice," said Ryan, "It's up to the Goddess..."

"Or God," said Corey.

Rasalas gave a nod. "A question we'll know the answer to when we do pass on, right?"

* * *

><p>March 1 brought about another major milestone for Rasalas, as he was at last able to completely block out all thought, to completely quiet the mind. Theresa was more than pleased with the news, and was then able to begin teaching him about Occlumency itself. Given she was an adept practitioner of the art herself, she was able to enter Rasalas' mind, and teach from that perspective, instead of trying to explain it by word alone.<p>

At first, Rasalas wasn't comfortable with the idea of someone else being in his head, but he quickly found her approach to be gentle. It was nothing like the uncomfortable sensations he had to deal with from his nightmares or visions. That said, it only took a few minutes for him to grow accustomed to the additional voice in his head.

"The thing about Occlumency that you have to grasp, is that you are in control of your own head, your own thoughts. Now this will likely sound a little callous, but your brain injury will actually prove to be a potentially useful defence," Theresa explained.

Since his eyes were closed, Rasalas projected a mental frown. "In what way?"

"Such fractured, disjointed fragments of memories, will confuse a legilimens, no matter how powerful they might be. Sure, if given enough time, they will be able to sort through it and make a bit of sense, but in that time, you will have a chance to push them out.

"I want you to try and... for the lack of a better word... feel me out. Where am I in your subconscious mind? This is one of the most important things you must learn how to do, Rasalas."

The lesson ended in frustration, for, as hard as Rasalas tried, he couldn't figure out exactly where Theresa was hiding. They finally called an end to the lesson, as Theresa did need to have lunch before seeing her next client back in Toronto. Of course, that also meant lunch for Rasalas, and as had become the normal occurrence, he joined his peers (or near-peers, considering Brady was twenty-six) out on the verandah. Lessons typically took place in the magic room, which Rasalas had began calling the _sanctuary_—it just made sense.

Herbology was then being practised in the newly-created greenhouse, one of Ryan's creations. His mother was excited to have access to fresh vegetables and herbs year-around.

Potions lessons, meanwhile, took place in the recently-created potions lab. With input from the tutor, it had been very easy to create what she called the ultimate workspace. It still needed to be stocked with ingredients and materials, but physically, the room was perfect for its purpose.

Rasalas took a seat at the table, noting that Brady had a couple of his notebooks stacked off to the side at his place.

"Working on new stuff?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Good. Glad to hear—thank you, Kreacher," said Rasalas, as the elf put a plate in front of him.

"Kreacher lives to serve, young master," He popped away.

"God, he's like night and day, Ras," said Aaron, "Between Corey sending him flying, and you telling him the facts of life..."

"Yeah, Sirius said something along the same line."

"Sometimes all someone really needs is a boot up 'is ass," said Brady.

"Or a stinging hex to the n-n-n-nut sack..."

Aaron looked at him and gulped, while there was a round of throat-clearing.

"Think my balls just climbed up in my groin... Good lord..." Corey muttered.

"An somethin' tells me 'ya got a list of people you're wantin' to try it on," Brady followed.

"Oh yeah. Only thing that prevents it is the Statute of Ssss-secrecy. But... then again. We do have something called a t-t-t-taser."

"What's a taser?" Rasalas questioned.

"Cops have them," said Brady, "Gives out a real bad electric shock."

"Think ten thousand volts or something like," said Aaron, "Fucks someone up really good... non-lethal force, right? Though there's a bunch of people out there saying the police shouldn't be allowed to use them."

"A stinging hex would be mild compared to that," said Rasalas, "It hurts, but it's a nuisance. This 'taser' or whatever it is... it sounds dangerous. I mean, what if they hit Ryan with it? He's already been messed up by electricity. Or if someone's old.

"A stunner, the guy's down. No harm to the body, just knocked out until he wakes up naturally, or is revived. God... a device that can purposely shock someone though... that freaks me out."

"Pepper spray... another weapon the cops have now," said Corey, "They shoot it in your eyes, burns like hell."

"That one makes a little more sense... still can't believe they'd purposely shock people though," said Rasalas, "Curious... have there been deaths because of it?"

"From a taser? Yeah, a few. I think one guy in Vancouver died from a heart attack brought on by it," said Aaron.

"How d-d-did Occlumency go?" Ryan asked, wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Not bad. I got my mind to a blank state for the first time, so we're able to move on with actual Occlumency now."

"M-m-maybe I should learn it too."

"Well, ask her. Given you're a friend, you will eventually attract attention from Voldemort. So I'd almost insist you learn."

Rasalas thought for a moment.

"You know your schooling will likely take a back seat now."

"Yeah, kind of guessed that, Ras. Even working through correspondence, it's b-b-become hard to concentrate."

"I know that feeling too well. My tutors scold me several times in every lesson, I can't stop thinking of the sanctuary and what it can do."

"Gotta wonder what the limits are," said Aaron.

"Well, Bill said the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts is infinitely flexible."

"So we could make it stretch for miles," said Brady.

"Theoretically."

"Why not find out?"

"Got something in mind?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll give you control rights then. But don't change the room we have. Just add another... and I think we'll need to change the layout a bit. A parlour maybe."

"What if we copied the manor?" Corey suggested.

"No. I'd rather the sanctuary be a little more personal... a little different. I like the common room though... it feels, I dunno, familiar, maybe?" He gave a smirk. "Good thing I have the afternoon off."

* * *

><p>March 19 marked the first live steam day for the steam club. Given the unplanned events and incidents over the past few months, everything had been put on hold, much to the disappointment of the membership.<p>

However, with warmer weather arriving, and with no recent reports of Death Eater activity, the Auror protection detail saw no reason for the event not to go ahead. Ryan once again acted like a kid at Christmas, once again able to put the enormous scale-model Y-6-b locomotive in steam, with his close friends helping to wake it up from its winter slumber.

Sirius, not having seen the enormous model before, was fascinated, and equally impressed, seeing his godson take the throttle. He'd certainly seen more than a few pictures of Rasalas driving, but it was just a bit more impressive to see it for real.

Corey was also rather surprised, seeing his brother take the throttle. The boys could drive just about anything, but a train... this was something new. Scale model or not, it was a different skill set.

The afternoon proved to be very busy, it being the last day of March Break. If they had to guess, nearly five hundred people had visited the track and rode the five scale-model trains that were running, including the Sawyers' Y-6-b(1).

In addition, it was only natural that a few people recognized Brady, and so ended up getting pictures with him—the favourite being with the locomotive. Him driving was an additional hit, with more than a few videos being shot. How many of those would end up on that new video-sharing website... _YouTube_... was it?(2)

At the end of the day, everyone was in agreement that it had been a very successful day, and a step back toward some sense of normalcy, with everything that had happened over the winter. Though, Rasalas was very quick to point out, "With us around? There's no such thing as normal."

* * *

><p><em>Early hours, March 24<em>

It had been another rather late night, as they continued to explore the number of journals and texts that had been included with the sanctuary. Rasalas had not joined them until later, having a potions paper due the following day, and so spent the time immediately following dinner completing it.

Now, as it neared 2 in the morning, Rasalas was just getting to sleep, having taken the time to practice his calming exercises—a habit he'd gotten into with the encouragement of Theresa. It seemed to lessen the frequency of dreams involving the door at the Department of Mysteries, and all in all, give him a better sleep.

Brady was once again asleep on the opposite side of the bed—Rasalas had cast an enlargement charm on it, so they had more space, meaning they weren't constantly crushed up against one another. It was good to see him sleeping well again; the past few months had really tested his sanity... being violated so would test anyone.

Back to the point of the story, Rasalas was just finding the bliss of sleep, when he found himself quite violently thrown across the room. At first, Rasalas thought that Brady had gone off on him for some reason... but no, that didn't make a whole lot of sense! The entire room was being shaken violently, and crashes coming from other parts of the manor told him it was by no means just a local thing.

He found himself hauled off the bed and onto the floor.

"Earthquake... it's... it's an earthquake," Brady managed to say, "Where's your wand?"

"Got it."

As the shaking continued, they could hear pieces of the ceiling begin to crumble and rain on the floor—the glass finally shattered in the windows.

"Jesus fuck... place is gon' come down on top of us."

"Into the chamber... c'mon, we should be safe in there."

They scrambled across the floor, with Rasalas having to banish some of the debris as they went—Brady had nearly been struck by a large piece of plaster—they reached the door, and Rasalas wrenched it open.

"That's fucked up."

"C'mon, inside."

True to Rasalas' guess, the sanctuary was unaffected by the shaking.

"You hurt?"

"No. Startled... just... never felt anything like that before, not that I remember anyway. Here... let me see your arm."

Rasalas had noticed the deep cut on Brady's right forearm. He touched it with his wand. "_Episkey_."

"Thank you."

"God... need to make a fire-call, get Theresa here."

He glanced back at the door just in time to see the ceiling in the bedroom collapse, sending up a cloud of dust. His heart sank, knowing just about everyone else had only recently gone to bed as well. Would it be a rescue, or a recovery?

It took nearly a minute before the shaking stopped.

"Stay here a moment. Let me clear some of the debris, find us clothes and my broom. Gonna need your help."

"Yeah, no shit."

Rasalas carefully stepped back into the shattered room, only to have to bolt back into the sanctuary again, as there came a God-awful crash. A plume of dust billowed into the room, until he slammed the door closed.

"I... my brother..."

"My godfather, Brady! I know! Just... gotta think a second. Your mum's back at the Sawyers... but..." Rasalas closed his eyes a minute, then opened them. "Kreacher?"

_Pop_. "Little master call for Kreacher?" the elf asked. It looked like he'd been asleep, likely back at the townhouse in London.

"Can you locate Sirius? We... we think the manor collapsed. Find him and bring him here."

Kreacher seemed to think a moment, before popping away.

"Brady... fire-call Upper Canada Hospital and have them send us a healer. I can count on us needing one."

Kreacher returned, bringing an unconscious Sirius along.

"Master is needing a healer at once, young master."

"We're working on it. Can you help us find the others?"

"Of course."

Brady, meanwhile, was kneeling in front of the grate, his head stuck in the fire. It had taken him some time to get used to the concept, but by this point, it was just a common practice. Though honestly, he missed just using his mobile.

Rasalas was kneeling at Sirius' side.

"Where was he?"

"Asleep, young master."

"All right. In the potions lab, in the cabinet, we should have a number of pain-relieving potions. We'll need them. Would you fetch them?"

"Of course." Kreacher popped away.

Rasalas quickly banished Sirius' shirt, checking him for injuries. It looked like something had struck him in the chest—part of the ceiling, more than likely. And his left leg looked wrong. He was alive, but badly hurt, this much was evident. Over and above the nasty cut Brady had suffered. God, it was only luck that's all they'd suffered, all considering.

Where were Ryan and Aaron? And what about Corey? They would have just gone to bed as well. He wouldn't dare ask Kreacher to go look for them, considering what Corey had done to him. The elf would sooner leave the man to die.

Brady pulled his head back out of the fire, and the flames returned to their normal colours.

"They's sendin' a healer."

"Good. Kreacher's looking for pain-relieving potions, but... we need to get our act together. I need to locate my broom and some clothes. Stay here. If I'm not back—"

Kreacher returned from the potions lab, bringing a number of vials. That coincided with the fire in the fireplace roaring to a brillinat green, expelling a pair of witches wearing lime-green robes.

"What happened, Mr. Black?" questioned one.

"We think the house collapsed, madam healer," answered Rasalas, "My... well... Sirius has been injured." He indicated his godfather's prone form. "I asked Kreacher here to fetch pain-relieving potions from our stores, but..."

"We'll take it from here," said the second healer, "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Three others. We're about to start searching now. Uh... Brady, wait here a second."

Rasalas pulled the door open, and vanished the cloud of dust. God, what a mess... the room was unrecognizable, with the entire floor having pancaked on top of the floor below.

"_Accio_ firebolt," he called out.

It took nearly twenty seconds, before his broom zoomed into his hand. One of the stirrups was slightly bent, and it was covered in nicks and scratches, but was otherwise okay. It would still fly. He lay it against the wall, then cautiously stepped into the shattered remains of the bedroom.

"Brady, get on the broom and come out."

Seconds later, they were in the air, and out of the wrecked manor thanks to a gaping hole where the ceiling used to be.

"Looks like a bomb hit it," Brady remarked.

"No kidding. C'mon, looks like the Auror detail are working to clear wreckage."

They could see the three wizards and one witch at work, banishing pieces of the wreckage.

"I'm gonna start vanishing parts of the roof, since everyone was in their rooms. I'll need you to fly the broom for me."

"Not like we ain't done this before, Ras."

They flew closer, with Brady controlling the broom, while Rasalas began to vanish the debris that had been the roof. Knowing the floor plan, he was able to guess where he would likely find people, and so began with what would have been the room across the hall from his.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes of spell-work, he'd cleared the shattered roof and remnants of the ceiling to reach Ryan and Aaron's room. The walls had also fell in, but a sudden blast of red magic sent the pieces flying. And then the broken bed also went flying.

"Rasalas!?"

"Ryan? All right there?"

"Y-y-yeah. Thank the Goddess ffff-for Aaron's quick th-th-thinking. Dragged me under th-th-the bed after everything ssss-started sh-shaking."

Ryan was quite literally shaking himself, looking alarmed and frightened. God, for good reason! The place had quite literally come down on top of them all.

Rasalas pointed his wand at the centre of the room. "_Accio_ Ryan's broom!"

"You all right to fly?"

"Y-y-yeah, I th-th-think so."

"Aaron, you hurt?"

"No, just a bit shaken. God... looks like the whole place came down."

"It did."

There came an explosion of debris, and Ryan's broom sailed out of it, and into Rasalas' outstretched hand.

"Here. You guys get out of here. Aurors are clearing the debris, go tell them to quit... we just need to find Corey, and I know where he should be."

He sent the broom at Ryan, but Aaron caught it.

"C'mon, let's go find your brother."

Corey's room was at the far end of the manor, and it took a little more delicate spell-work to locate him. With the room being on a corner, and a fractured chimney threatening to collapse at any second, it couldn't be approached in the same way as they'd done with Ryan and Aaron.

So, it was nearly fifteen minutes before the debris was cleared enough for them to have a look. They found Corey pinned between the bed and the wardrobe, which had then been pinned by a section of the wall. It took another few minutes, with Rasalas wanting to be very careful... a wrong move, and Brady's brother could be crushed.

Finally, the wardrobe was vanished, and Corey was then carefully moved up onto the bed, though it was at an uneven angle. Still, it was a stable surface, which Rasalas then levitated out of the debris, and set down in the yard. There, Rasalas knew it was a dire circumstance. The guy was ashen, barely this side of death. They needed a healer immediately.

"You stay with him, I'll go fetch a healer."

Brady quickly dismounted, and Rasalas then took off, making a fast track back to the hole in the ceiling above his shattered room. 'We're staying in the sanctuary from here on out,' he decided, 'Someone could have died! Corey still might!' The earthquake or whatever it was had shaken him in more ways than one.

Re-entering the sanctuary, they found Sirius had been moved onto a conjured stretcher, though he was then conscious and aware.

"Sirius! You okay?"

"I will be, kiddo. What happened?"

"Brady says it was an earthquake. Uh... we... we need a healer right away. Corey's been badly injured."

"Take me to him," said the first healer.

"It'll have to be on my broom, I still don't know how to Apparate."

Rasalas quickly escorted her back through the door and into the shattered room. He remounted his broom, and with her on the back, they blasted back up and through the hole, only to land a minute later, where he'd left the bed. Brady was checking his brother over, looking very worried.

"Let me see."

The healer produced her wand, and started casting a number of spells, looking more grave the longer she went.

"He's been nearly crushed to death... I'll need to treat him at Upper Canada Hospital, the injuries he's suffered are too serious to be addressed here."

She reached into her kit, and pulled out a potion.

"Help me give this to him. It'll put him into a form of stasis so we can have a chance to treat him."

"Draught of Living Death," Rasalas guessed, to which the healer gave a nod.

"It buys us some time."

Brady looked horrified, but he still helped her administer the potion.

"Is it possible to transport him by floo powder?"

"It's not desirable, but yes, we can," answered the healer.

"We'll have to go into the sanctuary... I mean, where Sirius is being treated. We can use the fire there."

"Move the door, Ras. No way we can fly up there, right?" Brady was still fixated on his gravely injured brother.

"I... yeah. Stay here."

Rasalas once again took off on his broom, to land in the remains of his room. This time, he closed the door into the sanctuary, and touched it with his wand, speaking, "Retract". It was the exact reverse of when the door had formed, as it disappeared, and a pair of lines seemed to unzip, travelling downward, to once again meet in the middle of the baseboard. The obsidian-coloured orb reappeared in its place.

Rasalas quickly collected it, re-mounted his broom, and left the wreckage. Now, to find a place to reinstall the door, if only temporarily. He touched down again, and passed his broom back to Brady, while looking for something to use. There. A big section of the wall was relatively intact, and so he summoned it, and propped it up so it was nearly-vertical. The corner of the manor nearby had remained relatively intact, so it served as a good backing. They would only need it for a few minutes. Sure that the setup would work, he then set the orb down on the ground.

Unfortunately, instead of a door, the orb instead disappeared, and a circle began to draw itself on the ground, forming into a very old well cover, rather than a door. Definitely not what they needed, but at this point, he couldn't be sure whether he could get a proper door to appear or not. The orb obviously knew the difference between inside and outside, and really... there was no time to fight with it.

"I'm sorry... this is the best I can do," he apologized.

"Long as it leads us back to a fireplace, Mr. Black," said the healer.

Rasalas pulled the cover open, to find a ladder going down. He climbed in, noticing quickly, the ladder had been placed beside the door leading into the Sawyers'.

"You p-p-put it on the g-g-ground," Ryan guessed.

"Not practical, but the best we have."

It was then Rasalas noticed a pair of feet descending. The healer was lowering Corey through the opening, and Rasalas produced his wand, ready to take over if necessary.

"I'll see to it, Mr. Black," said the second healer.

"Your colleague wants him taken to the hospital."

"Yes, as I gathered. We've done this before, Mr. Black."

"Forgive me."

Once Corey was through, the first healer quickly followed, with Brady only inches behind.

"Now, Mr. Gibson, you'll likely want to come along, but—"

"They're under our protection, madam healer," said Sirius, "And since I need a bit of rest, my godson will be going in my place. Rasalas, you need to contact Auror Jackson as well, make sure the protection detail is aware."

It was then another person was climbing in, and by the boots, Rasalas knew it was the protection detail already present. That would account for everyone on the island.

"I'm goin' to wake mom. She... she needs to know," said Brady, quietly.

"We have to go right now. Take some time, get some rest. He'll be in treatment likely for several hours, so it won't do a whole lot of good sitting at the hospital."

"She's right, Mr. Gibson," said Sirius, "Go wake your mother, we'll get you to the hospital before he regains consciousness."

Brady was about to protest, but then realized both the healers and Sirius were right.

"We'll fire-call once he's been moved out of treatment. What's the floo address here?"

"Black sanctuary," Rasalas answered.

The first healer grabbed a larger-than-normal handful of floo powder from the small cup hanging at the side of the fireplace, and threw it into the fire. She then pointed her wand at the roaring green flames, commanding, "Priority connection by healer credentials, Upper Canada Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

It seemed to take a few seconds, before the fire seemed to roar even higher, and turned a deep blue shade. In addition, the fireplace itself actually widened, providing room for three people to pass through it side-by-side. With Corey's petrified form supported between them, the healers then stepped into it, and vanished, and the fire—along with the fireplace—then returned to normal.

"Priority connection?" questioned Aaron, while Brady had already passed through the door leading back into the Sawyers.

"It provides a direct connection to the hospital through the floo network," said Sirius.

"Oh. Like a direct line on the phone."

"Similar, but different. It interrupts regular floo connections. It's meant for emergencies," one of the Aurors explained. "A more suitable comparison would be an air-ambulance, except that it's much faster."

"And cheaper," said Rasalas, "The government billed me two-hundred and forty dollars back in September. I didn't have health insurance."

"L-l-l-look... uh... Ma needs to know what happened... w-w-we're gonna be up a while. You sssss-should call Kate... your t-t-tutors..."

"Ryan... we'll cross those bridges when we need to. Go find your parents," said Rasalas.

"And we need to confer with the protection detail at the Sawyers, let them know... get in touch with Auror Jackson, let him know," said one of the Aurors.

Ryan could only agree with the logic, and so passed through the door back into his house, with the Aurors following.

"Well, kiddo, looks like we're staying here a while," said Sirius.

"Yeah. And I think we should have rooms for everyone in here, rather than bother the Sawyers. They've been really cool, but... I think Mrs. Sawyer and her husband liked having the house to themselves again."

Rasalas blew out a breath.

"You all right?"

"Nothing permanent. The healers patched me up quite well. You'll need some help collecting belongings and so on."

"I was going to ask, but..."

"I can help you with that, as can Ryan. He's learning rather quickly."

"Yeah. Agreed. He's pretty smart... his injury's forced him to compensate, right? No matter, everything's on hold for the next little while, until we sort through all this. Brady's gonna need a load of support... again. Never mind his brother."

"Theresa will help them both, Rasalas. As much as she's helped you."

"I know. I just feel bad for them both. Before I came along, he was doing fine on his own. Now... they'll never be the same. I mean, Brady won't be able to promote his music... not safely. And his mum's being traumatized again, finding out her youngest child has been nearly killed here this morning. I know she resents us... and this will only add to it."

"Don't blame yourself, kiddo. None of us could have seen any of this coming."

* * *

><p>It was several hours later, before a healer once again appeared in the fire, announcing that Corey had been moved to a recovery room. Though Ryan and Aaron wanted to go along, Sirius had decided it would be overwhelming if too many were to crowd the room. Betty said very little, but Brady invited Rasalas to go along. It would be bad enough getting his mother through the floo as it was.<p>

After a bumpy trip by floo powder, they found themselves in what could have been the typical reception area for a non-magical hospital... that's if you discounted the moving portraits on the wall, or the way the healers were dealing with the patients... never mind some of the people waiting for treatment.

"Mom... c-close your eyes," Brady warned, getting a look at some people.

A middle-aged man was sitting in a corner seat with a strange plant somehow growing out of one ear. Another, somewhat younger man sat two seats over, his hand wrapped in a towel. From the look of the edge not covered by the towel, it was covered in nasty green spots. His face spoke of agony. Even more horrifying, was a young mother sitting with two identical boys. One of the boys had a blanket wrapped around the stump where his left leg should be. The mother held something wrapped in another blanket, and one end was bloody. It didn't leave much to the imagination, and quite bluntly, Brady really didn't want to know.

There was a short queue, and the young wizard at the front was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.

"It's these – ouch – shoes my brother gave me – ow – they're eating my – OUCH – feet – look at them, there must be some kind of – AARGH – jinx on them and I can't – AAAARGH – get them off."

"The shoes don't prevent you from reading, do they?" said the blonde witch, irritably pointing to the large sign that took up the wall behind her desk. "You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"

The wizard hobbled and pranced out of the way, letting the queue move up. Brady chanced a look at the large sign:

ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ground Floor

Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.

CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . First Floor

Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

MAGICAL BUGS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Second Floor

Contageous maladies, e.g. Dragon pox, vanishing sickness

scrofungulus, etc.

POTION AND PLANT POISONING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Third Floor

Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.

SPELL DAMAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fourth Floor

Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly applied charms, etc.

COLLATERAL DAMAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fifth Floor

Falls, slips, non-magical devices, disasters, etc.

CAFETERIA / HOSPITAL SHOP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sixth floor (3)

The wizard ahead of them was directed to the third floor, and Brady was up.

"Gibson," he simply said, still not sure whether to be curious or horrified at what he was seeing.

"Ah. You would be his brother and mother," said the witch, "You'll want the fifth floor. Reception there will further direct you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Can I look now?" Betty asked.

"No... keep hold'a me, mom. Good Lord..."

Rasalas could only shake his head, as he followed, with Auror Jackson pulling up the rear. The injuries did look ghastly, that was one thing for certain. Seeing a witch with smoke coming out of her ears and nose made them choose the stairs instead of riding a lift—Brady's mother was likely traumatized enough as it was.

Arriving at reception on the fifth floor, reception quickly directed them to a ward a quarter way down the corridor. An Auror stood watch just outside of it, but it was best to be certain.

"You guys go on in. I don't want to—"

"Ras... 'ya saved his life," said Brady, "You're not intrudin' if that's what 'ya think."

"Well..." Rasalas once again found himself unable say 'no' to Brady.

There were four beds in the room, and only the one at the far end was occupied. Auror Jackson remained at the door out of respect, while Brady, his mother, and Rasalas approached. Corey was still asleep, the covers drawn up to his neck, and if Rasalas had to guess from memory, he looked somewhat better than earlier.

"My boy..." Betty whispered, pulling up a chair to sit close to the bed.

"He'll be well again, Mrs. Gibson. The healers are good at what they do," Rasalas promised.

Betty said nothing, as she reached under the cover and found her son's hand, clasping it in her own.

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: With the Manor being a complete write-off, Rasalas is forced to make large changes to the sanctuary to accommodate people; work begins on Rasalas' new home; and discovery is made as to exactly what the sanctuary is truly capable of...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: So we get a glimpse into Harry/Rasalas' Occlumency lessons. Much better having someone who is both compassionate and competent, no? Still, it's not going to be a cake-walk, Occlumency is projected in canon to be a difficult thing to learn. It'll be a while before he picks up even the bare basics of it._

_(1) I may not have mentioned it earlier... __Y6B – As quoted from Wikipedia: "...is the strongest-pulling extant steam locomotive in the world... It is a four-cylinder compound articulated (Mallet) locomotive with a 2-8-8-2 (Whyte notation) wheel arrangement." The Y6B is referred to as the "Improved Y5-Y6 class"... all were owned by the Norfolk & Western railway._

_(2) A reminder that YouTube was still a VERY new concept/venture in March of 2006, having only been officially launched in November of 2005._

_(3) Taken from Pg. 429, "Order of the Phoenix", Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	19. It's Not a Delorean

_Posted January 17, 2015  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __With the Manor being a complete write-off, Rasalas is forced to make large changes to the sanctuary to accommodate people; work begins on Rasalas' new home; and discovery is made as to exactly what the sanctuary is truly capable of..._

* * *

><p><strong>202. "IT'S NOT A DELOREAN"<br>March 24 – April 2, 2006**

"_Wait a minute, Doc. Ah... Are you telling me that you built a time machine... out of a DeLorean?"_

_- Marty McFly to Dr. Emmett Brown, _Back to the Future

* * *

><p>Without question, the manor on Black Island was considered a write-off. Even with magic, it just made more sense to rebuild, and at that point, with construction about to begin on Rasalas' new residence across from the Sawyers, there just wasn't time.<p>

While Brady and his mother stayed at Corey's bedside at Upper Canada Hospital, then, everyone else focused on salvaging belongings and other useful items from the wreckage of the house. Kreacher was more than helpful, collecting things of value and for now storing those items back at the townhouse in London. Things belonging to Rasalas, the Sawyers, or the Gibsons, meanwhile, were moved into the sanctuary temporarily.

Then there was the next problem, of providing accommodation for everyone. It was Ryan who thought of the solution late in the evening of March 25th. "Why not just make extra r-r-rooms in here?"

"Do it. I mean, Mrs. Gibson will stay with the Sawyers, but... Corey will need a room... and Brady won't need to share anymore."

"I'm fine sharin'."

"Oh." Rasalas felt his face get warm. "Uh... we'll make extra anyway. If Ron and Hermione come visit again before the house is done and so on."

"How much work would it take to make a kitchen and maybe a place to eat?" Aaron suggested.

"Yeah, we can pull that off too."

"Sounds like you're wanting to make a complete flat," said Sirius.

"That's exactly it!" said Rasalas, now excited, "God, we can easily pull that off. Right..."

He stood up, and closed his eyes. For several moments, nothing happened. Then, it seemed like a hallway began to form at one end of the room, opposite the fireplace. Another opening appeared to the left of the fireplace, and a room began to take shape. All the while, the air seemed to sing with magical energy, as the powerful artefact carried out the owner's wishes.

Rasalas at last opened his eyes.

"Right. So through the opening there—" he pointed to the opening to the left of the fireplace, "—we have the dining room. The kitchen and pantry are found at the far end. The hallway over there—" Rasalas pointed to the newly-formed hallway, "—leads to the rooms. I've taken the liberty of providing an oversize bathroom because of our number."

He grinned and said, "Being the owner of the flat, my room is the first door on the left."

"And likely the biggest room," Aaron smirked.

"Hey, there's two of us in there."

"S-s-s-s-same with us."

"Then you can make modifications to suit. The other rooms are exactly the same size. And besides, I would figure the pair of you would rather stay in the house."

"Not always. And wwww-what happens if we're not here... I mean, you end up going somewhere and take the orb with you?"

"I don't plan on removing the door to your place, Ryan. Even once my place is finished. I mean, think about it. Having to walk between our places and it pissing rain doesn't sound entertaining."

"Depends on whether or not the r-r-rain is warm or not."

"Knowing you guys, you'd just roll around in the mud anyway," said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

"Don't knock it 'till ya t-t-try it."

That had Brady smirking, and Rasalas rolling his eyes again. He blew out a breath.

"You guys are insufferable at times."

"Rollin' around in the mud's not a challenge... gettin' the truck stuck in three feet of mud's more like it."

"Let me guess... you've done it."

Now both Ryan and Aaron were smirking.

"Right. Here's the rule. If you come into my new flat—or my new home for that matter, covered in mud, you'll be cleaning it up without the help of magic," Rasalas vowed. He smirked as he said it, however.

* * *

><p><em>March 30<em>

With the weather beginning to warm up and the ground thawed enough, contractors arrived to begin work on Rasalas' new home. Though the build was new, the design had pulled from a sample of dozens of homes built in the Queen Anne style, popular in the late 1880s through to the 1910s. The style had completely fallen out of favour by the 1920s.

With the Sawyers' house being built in 1904, Rasalas wanted his own place to 'fit in' with the neighbour, rather than go with the current modern designs that lacked character. Perhaps it was the Black blood in him speaking, but... we'll leave that for another day.

* * *

><p><em>April 2<em>

Corey had been released from the hospital the previous afternoon in perfect health. The healers had done a wonderful job getting him back up on his feet. The family had spent the afternoon and part of the evening in the Sawyers' living room, and out of respect, everyone else gave them space.

That Sunday, then, both Corey and Brady insisted on attending church somewhere. Aaron, having lived in Newcastle, knew of a few, and offered to take them. They were gone for a good part of the morning. Rasalas knew at least a pair of Aurors would go along, though they would be out of sight, as was the rule during outings into the non-magical world.

With Brady and his family elsewhere, and Ryan being pulled into the shop to help his father, Rasalas was for the most part alone. Sirius was around, but still busy with the mess left from the earthquake, namely sorting through the items salvaged from the wrecked manor. It was a rather large building and all that.

So it was, that Rasalas at last turned his attention to the small trunk that had been in the default room. It had been tucked away in a corner of the room, and quite honestly, real estate in the common room was becoming scarce. So it had become a matter of figuring out if it was worth keeping or not.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have looked in there right at the beginning. Among the number of items inside, was a map, along with an old, worn journal. The binding was actually quite fragile, and an attempt to repair it with either of his wands had no effect. Something that could not be repaired. That was something _new_...

He spent the next hour carefully leafing through the tattered journal. The language was almost foreign, the form of English being so old—never mind the condition of the text. Some parts were badly stained, to the point of being nearly unreadable. For the most part the text seemed to be the ramblings of a mage, as he travelled the country.

Going with his gut, Rasalas pushed on. There was a reason this journal had been placed in the chest. And the map, which he realized was of the U.K., looked to be about as old as the journal. At least it was far more legible. However, like the journal, it was immune to magic. Strangely, there were four locations marked on the map: one in the southwest, due south of Bristol; the second was in western Scotland—a little northwest of Glasgow, if his geography served him correctly. He'd have to look it up on the computer. The third, meanwhile, he had to think a moment. West of Plymouth... Bodmin, maybe? The fourth, finally, he had a strong suspicion of what it was: Hogsmeade. Definitely needed to see a current map for a comparison. He'd certainly made sure to learn more about his homeland over the past twenty-plus years, but it didn't make him an expert. That's what _Google Maps_ was for.

So the question, then. What did all four locations have in common, other than the obvious? He blew out a breath, deciding to return to the journal. Maybe there would be more—he didn't finish the thought.

_Both _aptum cubiculum_(1) have been carried to safety, far out of the reach of the Saxons as their numbers surge across the land. Though it is not confirmed, we believe Excalibur has returned to Avalon, and once again we can only hope and pray it be so. The invaders carry great strength in numbers alone, they need not powerful weapons originally given to us in defence against them! _

_The lesser of the pair has been sent to northeastern Scotland; the Ravenclaw family has sworn to keep it sealed away. The second, stronger unit has been sent to the Peverell family in Wales. If rumour stands correct, they have ways of hiding, perhaps even from Death himself._

_The _tempore liquido_ has been placed in the ground near Garelochhead, the sea itself lending hands to conceal this powerful item. With Avalon lost to us, it can only be hoped these objects remain far out of reach of our enemies, for in their hands, it will only mean certain destruction._

Now, a couple of things made sense. He now had the explanation of where the Room of Requirement actually came from: Ravenclaw herself likely incorporated the device into Hogwarts itself. At this point he'd not seen the room itself, but based on Bill's description, he had a pretty good idea. Both that room, and the _adaptable chamber_ he now owned sounded very much alike.

As to the 'temporal crystal'—if his Latin translation was correct, that had to be the marker near Glasgow. Now the debate: was it worth checking out? He did have his invisibility cloak... and he could disillusion himself... and he did have his broom... and Fawkes could carry him there and back. It shouldn't take more than an hour.

It took him a few minutes to collect his broom, and his cloak. "Fawkes?" Rasalas called out.

The bird appeared in a flash of golden flames, to land on the back of a nearby chair.

"I need you to take me to this spot," said Rasalas, pointing to the tattered map, "Can you do it?"

Fawkes simply turned and offered his tail feathers, and they vanished with an equally bright flash of golden flames.

Make no mistake, Fawkes is a very intelligent creature. And so, bird and wizard appeared in behind a stack of shipping crates, on what looked like a dock of some sort.

"Brilliant as always, Fawkes. D'you mind waiting? Looks like I'm taking a swim."

Even now, he could feel the object calling to him. In some ways, it was unnerving. Some viewed such charms and spells as dark magic. Rasalas, however, only saw it as something rather useful. It was the intent that determined whether something was truly dark or light, in his opinion. In this case, the object wanted to be found by a wizard (or witch) who needed it. Rasalas snorted in his head as he prepared to apply a warming charm. Right... he was already half-mental as it was.

Then again... if anyone could see what he was doing—it was the beginning of April—they would think he was off his nut! Bloody hell... the warming charm was more than necessary, as he slipped into the water. In fact, he cast a weak heating charm instead, realizing the water was just this side of freezing.

Back to the task at hand, he began to swim toward the source of the magical beacon. He hoped it wouldn't be too large... all he knew, it was some sort of crystal. Though, if he interpreted the journal correctly, it was something easily handled by one person. So it couldn't be that big, right?

His guess was spot-on. Coming up on the source of the magical signal, he could see a small sphere half-buried in the sediment, casting a soft blue light. He could also feel a few wards around—no, not just anyone would have found it. So what was it? He reached down to snatch the sphere from the sediment.

The instant his his hand closed around it, he suddenly found he was no longer at the bottom of the loch. Rather, he stood on the dock, as an enormous ship filled his vision. He had to guess it was almost a thousand feet long—well, maybe a little less, with four large smoke stacks. One of them still belched thick, black smoke. Seven decks, he counted, and not all that clean. The ship had definitely seen better days.

As he turned his eyes forward to perhaps get a glimpse of the ship's name, the vision was gone. He was back on the bottom of the loch, the orb still clutched in his hand. Okay. That was more than confusing.

Rasalas was more than happy to return to the sanctuary, and only when his boots made a squelching noise on the floor did he realize he'd forgotten to apply a drying charm. The unexpected, foreign memory had scattered him somewhat, if he had to admit.

"Woah. W-w-what happened to you? You go in the lake or something?" said Ryan, smirking, as he stepped into the sanctuary. Considering he'd spent the morning working in the shop, they looked rather clean for a change.

"I've had a... well... a bit of an adventure," Rasalas answered, gesturing to himself and becoming instantly dry. Another gesture from his wand vanished the puddle that had formed at his feet. That coincided with both Brady and his brother stepping into the sanctuary from the Sawyers'. Both brothers looked at Rasalas, and smirked.

"Someone's been havin' fun."

"W-w-what kind of adventure?" Ryan prompted again.

"It involved something I discovered in the default trunk, Fawkes, a visit to Scotland, and a dunk in near-freezing water, all in the course of a half-hour."

"Coming from anyone else, I'd c-c-c-call them fucking crazy. From you... yeah, I b-believe it. Now the details!"

"Right, all right," said Rasalas, "The trunk had a journal and a map in it. Both are tattered, barely readable, but... God. The artefact is incredibly old... I mean, possibly over a thousand years, probably double that."

"R-really?"

"I was rather surprised to discover. The second bit, marked a spot north of Clydebank. The journal called it Garelochhead. All I know, the water was cold, and I recovered this."

Rasalas reached into his satchel, and produced the orb. Now getting a closer look at it, it looked like a Remembrall. A dark blue smoky cloud was swirling around inside it.

"You're sayin' you went back to England for that," said Brady.

"To c-c-c-c-collect an object that y-you don't even know anything about," Ryan deadpanned.

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Yup, certifiable."

The five of them burst into laughter.

Rasalas finally recomposed himself. "Right. So, when I collected this thing, I received a flash memory, the best way to describe it. It was like I was witnessing an event from a long time ago. A ship with four chimneys was docked there in the same place."

"Fourteen ships had f-f-f-four stacks. What colour were they? The stacks?"

"Red—no, more orange-like."

"Then you're talking about a C-c-c-cunard ship," said Ryan, "You have your p-p-pensive, right?"

"Better. You know how to look into my head. Have a look."

Ryan and Rasalas made eye contact, if only briefly.

"_Aquitania_. L-l-largest of the four-stackers. S-s-she was scrapped in 1950."

"She looked in sad shape."

"The c-c-company retired her a few months earlier. They said she was too old and too expensive t-t-to maintain. I'd give just about anything to see her. I was b-b-born about a hundred years too late. All the cool steam stuff was still around then, r-r-right?"

"Oh. Gotcha."

"If it's steam, you've got my interest," said Ryan, "A ship like the _Aquitania_... there would be a ch-ch-challenge. Lots of heat, and lots of steam."

"She looked enormous. A thousand feet, give or take."

"Just over nine-hundred f-f-f-feet."

As they ate lunch back in the house, Rasalas continued to mull over the strange experience he'd had that afternoon. In retrospect, he'd taken a risk—the object _could_ have been cursed. However, his gut feeling had proven correct. Now, the question was, what was the purpose of the sphere?

Returning to the sanctuary immediately after lunch, they all noticed something had changed—or more specifically, another room had been added.

"Okay. This was definitely not here when I left," Rasalas muttered, producing his stronger wand. He found that the wand he'd taken from Dumbledore responded far better than his holly wand for some reason.

The room was circular, a little larger than the main room, with a single pedestal at its centre. The pedestal itself contained a spherical receptacle, and a series of counters and switches were arranged around it. The ceiling, meanwhile, contained a map of the night sky.

"It's a planetarium," said Aaron, "Though, what's the point of view?"

"W-w-well, if the map on the floor is right, it's... it's what we would see at night."

It was then Rasalas noticed the floor was indeed a massive map, with the centre of the room being focused on the location of his house. The map was incredibly detailed, with them easily being able to make out the various trees that made up the wind break at the western edge of the property, and the CNR tracks that ran across the northern part of the property. They could even make out the high-tension power lines that ran to the north of them, and the busy 401 motorway further north yet again.

"M-m-maybe that crystal or w-w-whatever you found fits in the pedestal," Ryan suggested.

"Only one way to find out. You guys might want to wait outside, just in case."

"The hell we are," said Brady.

"Just d-d-do it," said Ryan, "If your ancestor had this, it's n-n-not likely gonna do anything dangerous."

Rasalas couldn't find any fault in that argument. He again pulled the orb out of his satchel, and placed it in the receptacle.

Instantly, all of the counters and the dials lit up with a soft blue glow, and a number of stars on the sky map also became just a little brighter.

"Woah."

"Uh, right. So what's it for?"

The sound of several books falling to the floor outside the room drew them back out to the common room, with Rasalas once again drawing his wand. Three books had quite literally dropped on the floor in front of the fireplace. One of them was truly enormous, and had to be eight inches thick, while the other pair were rather thin, including one that was similar to the journal he'd been reading much earlier.

"Hope you guys are up for some light reading. I have a suspicion these might tell us what the planetarium is truly for."

"What happened?" Sirius had been in his own room, and had been drawn into the common room with the noise.

"The chamber is having a bit of fun with us," said Rasalas, rolling his eyes, and gesturing to the stack of books.

"Anything I can help with?"

"We... God, my brain's already going into overload as it is, so much information," Rasalas complained.

"Books later," Brady decided, "It's nice out, let's go for a ride."

"On the broom?"

"No, my bike."

"Ah. Yeah, I like the sound of that," Rasalas grinned. "Unless..."

"Go," said Aaron, "We'll keep checking this stuff out."

"And the Aurors need to know you're going," said Sirius.

"We know protocol," said Rasalas, once again rolling his eyes.

Sometime later, they were once again flying down one of the many narrow back roads. Flying was an apt phrase, since if Rasalas had to guess, they were pushing eighty to eighty-five miles an hour. Obviously, Brady had missed being out on his bike.

If he were honest, Rasalas had missed it too. Though riding on his broom was still better, being on the bike was... different. It was a different feel than flying. That was the best way to put it. Just as driving was different yet again. Though, driving... they weren't as close, and if Rasalas really thought about it... he enjoyed being close to his friend. But in the truck, Brady tended to work on his songs, and that meant he would sometimes sing... and that's something that couldn't be done on the bike, or on the broom. Choices were most difficult at times.

They returned to the house a few hours later, to a bit of excitement in the sanctuary.

"Ras! C'mon, we have something you need to see," said Aaron, practically dragging both him and Brady into the planetarium. "Sirius thinks there's a spell on it. A... locking charm, I think."

"Locking charm?"

"Whoever wrote this didn't want just anyone to learn how to cast it, that's what Sirius thinks."

They found Ryan, Corey, and Sirius, still gathered around the pedestal in the centre of the room. Sirius was prodding one of the dials with his wand.

"Locking charm," Rasalas again repeated.

"If what I'm reading is correct... we need three wands. Uh... Ryan, if you'll stand there. And Rasalas, you stand there... good. You know the release spell—"

"R-relashio, you mean," said Ryan.

"Exactly. And you have to speak it firmly and clearly, in unison with us. Can you do it?"

"Yeah, I think s-so."

"I think then, I understand the wand movements. When I say 'portus', I need you both to cast the release charm on the pedestal. You both understand?"

"Yeah."

"G-got it."

"Everyone else, stand back a bit, I'm still unsure of what this will truly do," Sirius warned.

As they drew their wands, Sirius began to weave an intricate pattern with his own, encircling several of the dials, muttering an incantation. It was repeated a second time, this time with her tapping all of the counters. Then—

"_Portus_!"

"_RELASHIO_!(1)" came three voices in unison.

The night sky being projected spun around in a blur for several moments, while the floor actually shook. A large drawing table appeared near the doorway, with a set of partitions and dividers. They were covered with charts and notes, while the table itself was covered with a stack of large parchments. The sky projection finally stopped spinning, and everything again fell silent.

"Good Lord..." Brady finally managed. The hairs on his arms were all standing on end, from the magical charge that still hung in the air. If he had to admit, it was almost intoxicating.

"Woah... Check this out," said Corey, pointing to the group of dials that surrounded the central pedestal.

"Zero two, zero four, plus two zero, zero six," Rasalas read, "Today's date."

"Plus?" Brady was confused, as he crossed the floor to look at the drawing table.

"Unless that means, A.D.—" Corey began.

"C.E.," said Ryan, "S-s-scientific date notation."

"C.E.?" asked Rasalas, who was also confused.

"Common era, rather than 'After Death'. Common era is the non-biblical notation to date, with B.C.E., or 'before common era' replacing 'Before Christ', or B.C.," Aaron explained.

"'nother reason the world's goin' to hell," Corey muttered.

"Th-th-this is true," Ryan agreed, "Science can't explain everything."

"Nor can magic," Sirius also agreed.

"And we've strayed way off-track," said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

"Hold on a tic..." Brady had picked up one of the pages of parchment on the drawing table. "'gon try somethin'."

He spread his hands wide, then brought them swiftly together, and instantly, the map under the floor seemed to zoom out rapidly, until they were seeing all of North America.

"How..." Rasalas was confused.

"Instructions how to work the map. Uh... let's try..." He swept his right arm in a left-hand motion, sending the map spinning a moment, before it came to rest, showing the Mediterranean. A slight pushing motion away from him nudged the map northward, until they were then looking at a map of the U.K.

"Where's that old map you had?"

"_Accio_ map," Rasalas intoned. A few seconds later, the map in question flew into his outstretched hand. He joined Brady at the table, and laid it out flat.

"Let's try an' figure out where these places really are."

"Agreed. Though, I know where this one is." Rasalas pointed to the spot near Glasgow.

"This says we can mark it," said Brady, "But better..."

He glanced again at the map, then brought his hands together, then gently pulled them apart. The map began to zoom in, revealing incredible detail.

"God, I don't think even _Google Maps_ has this kind of resolution," said Rasalas, shaking his head.

"Someone touch it with a wand."

"G-g-got it," said Ryan, touching the spot on the floor with his wand. An orange, ghost-like flag appeared. Or perhaps, a banner was a better description.

Now, a label also showed up on the map: FASLANE.

Rasalas continued to reference the old map, while Brady continued to work the large map under the floor. It was truly amazing, the amount of detail it gave. They could almost see the traffic on the roads, the resolution was that good.

"All right, next. A marker that was between Wadebridge and Bodmin, so about here." Rasalas tapped the map with his wand, creating another marker. The label beneath it read: COTTON WOOD.

They were then momentarily interrupted, as Casey stepped into the room.

"Great Goddess..." she muttered, getting her first look at it.

"Fascinating magic, very old, Mrs. Sawyer," said Sirius.

"I can feel it," said Casey, "I can feel it faintly downstairs."

Rasalas looked surprised. "Really?"

"It's been an interesting discovery, this much is for certain," said Sirius.

"We're trying to match up some old place marks with the present-day map," Aaron explained.

"Uh... next place..." said Brady, again shifting the map. Casey watched, fascinated, as the entire map seemed to scroll by his hand gestures. He stopped it.

"Tell me when I'm in the right place," said Rasalas, as he moved up the map.

"Stop."

"Here?"

"Yeah. Little more to the left... there."

Rasalas looked down at the spot. "It's a settlement of some kind." He tapped the map with his wand, creating yet another marker. This one was red. And the label that appeared beneath it read: GLASTONBURY TOR.

"Well now! This is intriguing!" said Casey, "Glastonbury was supposedly also the location of Avalon."

"Wait. Wasn't the isle of Avalon supposed to be surrounded by a lake?" questioned Aaron.

"Back in the time of Arthur, fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago, it would have been," said Casey, "This entire area was drained so the land could be used for farming."

"So the other locations..."

"This one... doesn't make a lot of sense. Unless..."

Casey seemed to be thinking a moment.

"Unless this marks a much older site."

Rasalas gave a nod. "A castle, maybe. Merlin only knows how many ancient castles have dotted the land over time. Hold on. There's one I forgot. Move me north east... northern Scotland."

Brady did as asked, and Rasalas seemed to look around a moment.

"Here. I'll help," Sirius offered, "I think I know what you're looking for."

It took him a minute or so, before he tapped his wand on a spot. With another orange marker, came the label: HOGSMEADE.

"Hogsmeade... isn't that near where you went to school?" Corey remembered.

"It is. It's one of a very few completely magical communities in the U.K., and the location of Hogwarts," Sirius explained, "Mr. Gibson, can you zoom the map in closer?"

Brady obliged, and much to Rasalas' shock, the map indeed revealed both the town and the castle, in incredible detail. Rasalas was once again mentally assaulted by another flash memory, of seeing the place for the first time. The boats, gliding gently across the lake.

"Great goddess... it looks magnificent," said Casey, impressed.

Sirius gave a nod. "It's far more impressive to see it in person. Loads of wards around it though, including one that keeps non-magical people away."

Brady, meanwhile, continued looking over the various charts pinned up on the dividers. Compared to the journals they had been combing through, this was proving to be a gold mine of information. Some of it was way over his head, but most of it...

"Fuck me sideways."

He immediately had the attention of the entire room.

"This thing's a fuckin' time machine. Check this out... we got this thick book right... weighs same as a New York phone book? It's some kinda' chart, see. None specific... but general shit. 'an a lotta magic numbers..."

"Arithmency," Sirius clarified.

"Yeah, think so."

"So the right figures..."

"Damn. The ramifications... they're staggering," said Aaron, shaking his head. "We could go just about anywhere."

Rasalas gave a vicious smirk. "Yeah, and I know exactly where—or when... we need to go. Time for a few people to atone for their attack on me. I'll need all of your help on this."

"How d-d-d-does it work though?"

"We got knobs..." said Brady, now shedding his jacket, and walking over to the pedestal. "Look. Still needin' to look it all up. But... the dials let us set it, see. This... orb or whatever it is... it's for makin' a port key."

"And the map lets us determine the where part of the equation," Rasalas finished. "Bloody hell."

"Well, it's definitely not a d-d-d-delorean with a flux capacitor(2)."

Sirius and Rasalas looked at Ryan funny, while most of the others burst out laughing.

It came out of left field. A storm of visions and foreign memories stormed in front of Rasalas' mind-eye. Glimpses of a massive battle between ancient armies on an ancient battlefield; an imposing castle with a throng of men parading outside of it on horseback; an island surrounded by mists... dozens of similar memories, that finally ended with a single longsword being flung high in the air, to vanish in the clouds.

"_You have the tools. Your training awaits,_" spoke a voice that Rasalas immediately recognized—the voice of the Goddess.

Now, he knew what he was expected to do.

"Mrs. Sawyer... all of you for that matter... how much do you guys know about Avalon?"

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: Preparations begin for an extraordinary trip through time; the goblins collect on a debt; the Sawyers celebrate Beltane; and final preparations result in Rasalas having to reveal a secret to his new friends...<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: (1) According to the HPL, this spell has several different effects (appears like JKR couldn't make up her mind there, eh?). I go with the common effect, 'to release something'._

_(2) Apologies, I couldn't resist._


	20. A Gateway to the Past

_Posted January 27, 2015  
><em>

_SUMMARY: __Preparations begin for an extraordinary trip through time; the goblins collect on a debt; the Sawyers celebrate Beltane; and final preparations result in Rasalas having to reveal a secret to his new friends..._

* * *

><p><strong>203. A GATEWAY TO THE PAST<br>May 2006 / May 515**

"_Originally, the burden of proof was on physicists to prove that time travel was possible. Now the burden of proof is on physicists to prove there must be a law forbidding time travel."_

_- Michio Kaku_

* * *

><p>The next two weeks proved to be extremely busy on a number of fronts. Both Brady and his brother ended up spending a number of days back in Georgia, as it neared the tax deadline in the United States. That meant meeting with both attorneys and accountants, to make sure everything was filed correctly and accurately. There had already been one scare a few months prior, and with such a circumstance, it was imperative it was done right. Last thing Brady needed was an audit. It was a given that they returned to the Sawyers overnight, since there were still security concerns.<p>

The Sawyers, meanwhile, began to make more concrete plans regarding the Labour Day steam event. Although the event at Halloween had been a raging success with a staggering profit, it had proven to be a lot of work, too much, considering they'd already hosted one event less than two months prior.

So, the Labour Day event would also involve a number of musical acts to be presented over the weekend. Additionally, they decided to lengthen the event and open on Thursday rather than Friday. Phil was already considering shopping for another ride, perhaps two, in which to add to the collection.

On the musical side of things, there had already been more than a dozen enquiries from representatives of both Canadian and American musicians, starting back in November—hence the extension of the event by one day. It looked like they might have a high-profile headline act on each night, definitely better than at the inaugural event in the fall.

With the delay in getting the event laid out, however, a number of acts had already committed to other events that weekend. Rasalas was particularly disappointed when he learned this, silently promising to make retribution most unpleasant for those who were responsible for such a disruption.

* * *

><p>On April 17, both Brady and his brother looked more than relieved, as they at last finished dealing with the tax forms and other rubbish that went along with it. It had been somewhat of a distraction, to say the least. Helping with the research into Avalon and the Arthurian legend was a lot less stressful and far more interesting any day.<p>

Work on Rasalas' house, meanwhile, was progressing a little more quickly now that the basement had been completed and the floor joists for the ground floor installed. That meant they could begin installing the walls, among other things. Stone had been trucked in for the fireplace, and that was being moved in place. Thus far, estimates put completion sometime in early June.

That would mean they would likely already be back in Arthurian times. They had settled on May of 515, since according to the information they had, Morgaine was staying at Camelot during that time. Meeting her was a minimum objective, if not speaking to the Lady of the Lake herself.

April 23 brought about the second live steam event of the year, this time with six steam engines running from about eleven in the morning until dinner time. The weather had felt more like early summer than mid-spring, with the temperature reaching the low twenties (mid-seventies on the old scale). The clean-up resulted in yet another messy fight in the shop, with Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron becoming covered in a greasy mess. This time, Casey had no clue, since she and Betty had retreated to the back deck for the evening. The expanded bathroom in the sanctuary most definitely proved its worth.

With the weather being so warm, Phil brought up another issue as they had breakfast the following morning.

"I think we need to get the pool set up before you guys go," he said.

"Pool?" Rasalas questioned.

"You probably don't remember it from last year, but yes, we do have a pool," said Casey, "We take it down during the winter, but with the weather getting nicer, it might be nice to have it set up before you all disappear on us."

"I'll need to pull the one-and-a-half inch hose from the shop and hook it up to the water tower. Ryan, you know where the pool is stored, why don't you guys get started with it after breakfast?"

"Where is it set up?"

"Remember w-w-w-where we had the bonfires on Halloween?" Ryan asked.

"Oh. Right. Wondered why there was a big circular pad there."

"We have a heavy rubber-like mat that goes on top of it before the pool gets put on it," said Phil, "Makes it a little more comfortable on the feet."

"Water's g-g-gonna be a... it's gonna be c-c-cold. No matter w-w-where we get it from."

"I think a warming charm will work well enough," said Sirius, "Rasalas, have you shown Ryan that one yet?"

"Yeah. Once I figured he likes getting soaked, messy, or muddy... that came along with the cleaning charms, I think."

"Aw come on, Ras. You have fun doing that s-stuff too," Aaron smirked.

Rasalas shrugged. "I'll never tell."

Once breakfast was finished, Rasalas followed Ryan and Aaron to the smaller workshop, where the Y-6-b was stored. At the back, under one of the enormous tarps, was the parts to the pool. It was confusing, until Aaron explained it.

"It's called an Easy-Set, see. It's meant to be put together in an hour or so. With a few of us, it shouldn't take even that long. Biggest issue is getting the rubber pad out. Phil used the small forklift last year."

"We'll just levitate it. Where is it?"

"In the shop. D-d-da will bring it."

"Let's bring the rest then."

Rasalas produced his wand, while Aaron opened the large roll-up door.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"_Locomotor_ pool parts!"

The entire palette of pieces lifted off the floor, and began to follow, as Rasalas walked out of the workshop, headed toward the concrete pad. Now completely unfazed by feats of magic, both Aaron and Ryan simply followed behind, with Ryan closing the roll-up door.

They were just in time, as Phil was already crossing the lawn on the forklift, a long roll being supported on its forks. Sirius had already vanished the remains of the bonfires, and so the pad was clean.

"Mr. Sawyer, just set it down, we can use our wands to get it into place," said Sirius.

"Oh. Of course."

Phil lowered the roll of rubber to the ground, and between Rasalas and Sirius, they lifted it again just a little off the ground.

"Place it so the end's at the edge of the pad... good. Now unfurl it."

With a flick of the wand, the roll seemed to unroll itself, laying almost perfectly flat.

"B-b-better than we did last year," Ryan admitted.

"Y'all 'r doin' a great job!" Brady called out. He and his brother were both sitting in chairs up on the deck, under the canopy.

Rasalas smirked. "Right then. Last one of you to touch the edge of the pad and join us here gets thrown in the pool soon as it's full... and before we put warming charms on it."

It was comical, seeing the pair trying to outrace each other to the pad. In the end it was Corey making it to the edge of the pad a half-step ahead of his older brother.

"Bastard."

"Damn straight," Corey smirked.

"Right. So you guys help unload s-s-s-stuff from the palette. The upright parts..."

"These," said Aaron, "They need to lay around the outside."

"God, there's a lot of parts," said Rasalas, "Why don't you guys just get a pool installed?"

"We thought of it. We like this a bit better, I guess," said Phil, while the parts were being moved into their general place.

"I see that look, kiddo."

"I think I need a pool installed," Rasalas smirked. "I mean, the lake looks nice, but..."

"N-uh-uh. You'll freeze your balls off in it," said Aaron, "Trust me."

"But why? It's just a lake, right?"

"Eight hundred feet deep at its deepest point. Parts of it never warm up... and you get strong wind one day, it all gets stirred up. Getting a pool is a good idea, and I mean really... you can afford it, so go for it."

"Why d'ya wanna waste money though? Jus' put one in your sanctuary or whatever," Brady pointed out.

"Yeah, we could do that too. But not everyone's gonna be allowed to see my hidden home. No, I'm adding a pool to my official home. Maybe have a word with the contractor later," Rasalas decided.

By 10 o'clock, they had everything assembled. Though there were more than enough hands to get it done manually, the use of magic really moved things along. While Aaron and Ryan hooked up the thick hose to the water tower, Phil once again took the forklift back over to the shop, to fetch the pump and the filter, as well as the various fittings that were too fragile to be left outside during the winter.

"All right. The really chilly part of this," said Aaron, "We need to put a half-inch of water in, and make sure there are no wrinkles."

"I might have an easier solution that won't involve frozen feet," said Sirius, "Add a bit of water, and I'll show you."

"How deep is it when it's full?" Corey asked.

"About three feet," said Ryan, "S-s-so no jumping or diving."

"Yeah, sort of figured that much."

"Meaning in the summer we'll need cooling charms."

"N-n-no thanks. I like it warm," said Ryan, smirking, "W-w-warming charms gotta be the best thing since sliced bread."

Aaron also smirked. "You should see how hot he makes his showers." He opened the end valve, and dropped the hose into the pool.

* * *

><p>As Rasalas helped the Sawyers get their pool set up, a very different scene was unfolding in an office on the forty-eighth floor of <em>First Canadian Place<em>, the tallest office building in Toronto. _Allen, McNalley & Webber_, the sign behind the receptionist read. It was the office of a powerful trading firm, responsible for about ten percent of the daily trading volume on the _Toronto Stock Exchange_.

The incredibly short individual who stepped into the office was sharply dressed, and to many... something seemed off... though he weren't entirely... human.

"How may I help you?" asked the receptionist.

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Webber," said the individual, giving a nasty grin.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I assure you, he will want to see me immediately. I am here in the matter of a number of outstanding debts that must be settled."

The receptionist frowned, but punched in a number on the telephone key pad—she wore a headset making it easier to perform other tasks while using it. 'Man looks more like a troll,' she thought as the line rang through the ear piece.

"Mr. Webber? It's Carla... Yes... I have a..." she covered the microphone. "I didn't get your name."

"Mr. Garokat," answered the man, giving another evil grin. She uncovered the microphone again.

"I have a Mr. Garokat to see you with regard to... a number of outstanding debts... I... no. All right, thank you sir."

She disconnected the call.

"Mr. Webber has no recollection of being in arrears in any debt he currently owes. Unless you have proof—"

Mr. Garokat reached into his portfolio, and withdrew a single folder.

"I will only discuss the contents with Mr. Webber," he insisted.

The receptionist frowned again. 'Definitely looks like a troll... or a goblin,' she thought, dialling the same number.

"Mr. Webber? Carla again. Mr. Garokat has a folder he will only show to you. All right. I'll send him in."

She hung up.

"You can go on in. Down the hall to my left, last door on the left."

"Thank you."

Garokat followed the receptionist's instructions, stepping into the office at the far end of the hallway.

Mr. Webber was rather tall, with nearly-white hair. He was momentarily startled at the vertically-challenged individual who stepped into the office, but still greeted him politely.

"What can I do for you?"

"Answer to some uncollected debts, Mr. Webber," said Garokat, producing the folder yet again. Mr. Webber automatically reached out to grasp it, but instead felt a terrible hook about the naval, as he and Garokat were carried away in a blur of limbs. Their departure also sent off a barely-detectable magical pulse that felt like the approach of an electrical storm. It spread out in all directions, scrambling or otherwise frying every computer and electronic device on the floor.

* * *

><p>Kate visited the following morning, bringing a copy of the <em>National Wizards' Standard<em>.

_STOCK MARKET CHAOS_

_TORONTO STOCK EXCHANGE DROPS 16%_

_SPILL-OVER FELT IN NY, BRIEF HALT IN TRADING_

_Many investors are waking up with terrible losses this morning, after a disastrous day of trading in Toronto. _

_The incident began just after 10 am yesterday, when 10% of the wealth represented on the exchange vanished with no reason or warning. This immediately triggered an automatic circuit breaker which halted trading for an hour, according to TSX procedure._

_When trading once again resumed just after 11 am, investors remained in a state of panic, resulting in a further 6% drop by 1:30 pm, and a further 2% by 2:15 pm. The market did recover slightly, but losses still added up to 16% of the trading volume by close of business yesterday._

_Market insiders and officials from the Investment Industry Regulatory Organization of Canada (IIROC) are conducting an investigation into what caused the unexpected loss..._

Rasalas put the paper down.

"What really happened? Somehow I don't think our paper usually reports on something that happened in the non-magical world."

"And you're right. You'll be pleased to know punitive action has been taken against one of the families responsible for the attack on Mr. Gibson. Garokat saw to it personally, with perhaps unexpected complications."

"Who was it?"

"A Mr. Webber, if my info's right," said Kate, "He's been port keyed to Gringotts, along with three other members of his family. Don't ask me what they'll be made to do. It's better none of you know."

"All right. But... unexpected—where was Mr. Webber's office?"

"First Canadian Place. It's the white office tower—"

"I know what it is. He did magic there? Bloody hell."

"The ministry is most definitely investigating, and we will be speaking to Garokat about it. Though I do suspect whatever happened was an accident, the goblins tend to be careful when dealing with non-magical people."

Rasalas only shook his head. "Shit happens, right? No matter, I'll let Brady know."

"Where is he?"

"With his brother and mum, I think. Y'know I'm envious of him... still having his mum... just as I'm envious of Ryan, having both his parents still."

"No one will fault you there, Rasalas. Now, you've set a date when you're travelling to—"

"Midnight on May first," Rasalas answered.

"I assume you'll be taking adequate supplies in the event you cannot access the connection here."

"Yeah. Lots of planning in place. Sirius has Kreacher stocking the pantry and so on. Sirius will speak for me while I'm away."

"As I assumed. You certainly do have us rather busy."

"All that matters are that my interests are protected. That would extend to Brady and his family, and to some extent, Ryan and his family."

"It's a given. We'll ensure the Auror protection remains in place, even in your absence."

"Thing is, I don't think we'll be going all that far, not if the doors work as I think they do. It's magic that's ancient—beyond ancient," said Rasalas. "I mean, it's something the Department of Mysteries would like to get their hands on."

"I do have a suggestion. Use the mechanism to determine who was responsible for the attack on you."

"Both Ryan and Brady have said the same thing. The thing is, I don't know if we'll have more than one shot at using it. I'd like to make our first attempt count, if you get my meaning."

"That would make sense. But should it work, that would be my next course of action. Let's find out who hurt you so they can be brought to justice."

"Trust me. They will be brought to justice eventually. Just not sure what I'll actually do with them when I catch 'em. Sirius is still looking into the family laws."

"Rasalas..."

"It's within my rights as a Black, Kate."

* * *

><p><em>April 30, 2006<em>

When Rasalas stepped into the dining room that morning, the house felt... different. The magic had changed.

Ryan only gave a grin, seeing the guy's puzzled look. "Happy Beltane," he said, simply.

"Oh. I... well, I don't remember if I ever celebrated it," Rasalas answered, as he took a seat at the table. "An early happy birthday, Aaron."

"Thanks, man."

"Ma's b-b-been up since before dawn getting the house r-r-ready."

"Guess that explains why it feels different."

"We do a house blessing at d-d-dusk, and there's a bonfire. I w-w-want you guys to join us. It's a lot of fun."

"Well... all right. But Brady probably won't."

"C'mon, I'm just as Christian as he is," said Aaron, "And I'll be there. It's a family event more than a religious event, right?"

"G-g-good way to put it, yeah."

"And really... where we're going tonight... you know Morgaine and her brother both worship the Goddess... and Arthur worships both."

"All right, all right... I'm sold. Now. I thought I'd give you this now, since there may not be time later."

Rasalas reached into his pouch, and pulled out a small box. He set it on the floor, then tapped it with his wand. "_Engorgio_."

Aaron picked it up, and opened it. Inside, he found an identical pouch to the ones Rasalas and Brady had. There was also a silver bracelet, which he put on at once.

"The bracelet is goblin-enchanted, and should help protect you against some of the lesser hexes and jinxes that might be used on you. I gave Brady something similar back in February."

"Yeah, I sort of remember that. Thanks!"

"W-w-where is he anyway?"

"Brady? Where else? In that room he's made, with his brother and mum. I think he's really afraid we're gonna be separated, right? And his mum won't stay in the sanctuary. I think he's torn between coming with me, and staying with his mum. I guess I can't blame him."

The day flew by, with wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Rasalas knew this was the preparation for a number of things that evening, including a feast—Sirius had assigned Kreacher to help Casey. There had been small flower wreaths placed in all the windows on the main floor made up of yellow flowers, all of which had been cultivated in the greenhouse since it was created. The wreaths were dominated by daffodils, but primrose, rowan, and hawthorn could also be found in the mix.

Mid-way through the afternoon, Rasalas realized there would be little chance for them to get any sort of rest before they travelled back to 515C.E. Of course... there was a solution... but it would mean revealing a secret. He huffed to himself. Fine. So be it. But they needed to be on their game. There was no guarantee how their arrival would be treated.

Rasalas found Brady once again with his brother and mother. The room Brady had created was enormous, to say the least. The door led into the great room of a house, inspired by the manor back on Black Island. That, however, was only the beginning, as one could then pass through the double doors leading outside, to an area that stretched out of sight. Rather than a beach and the ocean, it overlooked hills and valleys carpeted with trees. A medium-sized lake took up the bottom of the hill where the house stood. Knowing from already being at Brady's house in Georgia, it was a close replica.

"Brady. I need a word. Come into the room a second."

They crossed the great room, then back into the common room.

"Wha's goin' on?"

"I'm locking the door to our room for the rest of the day."

"What for?"

"I want to be sure it's unoccupied. We'll be needing it later."

Brady furrowed his brows, and looked confused. "If we're needin' it later... why—"

"Trust me. It'll make sense later."

When Brady returned to his 'house', Rasalas then went into their shared room, and made a small modification—namely the addition of an extra bed. He then left the room, sealing it with an owner-level lock just in case. It was vital the room remain unoccupied for the remainder of the day and night, if what he planned on doing was to work. He also took note of the time, committing it to memory. That would be vital, too.

The meal took place at sundown, after Ryan extinguished the fire in the fireplace—it would be re-lit later. The food was truly wonderful, with a number of traditional dishes being presented. A number of candles also adorned the table, and in some ways, it mirrored the feast held back at Christmas. Corey, Brady, and their mother whispered their own silent prayers before eating. This was nothing new, and nothing was said of it—the Sawyers were both accepting and accommodating.

With darkness falling, the gathering moved outside, with Casey having collected the uneaten scraps off everyone's plates. Rasalas was curious to see what she would do with it, but found she'd simply tossed everything out in the nearby field.

"Some of the leftovers are g-g-g-given to the birds and animals," Ryan answered, as they gathered around the pile of logs and twigs. He and Aaron had been busy during most of the afternoon setting it up. A few broken palettes had been laid at the bottom, along with wood scraps, twigs, logs, and dry grass.

Phil, meanwhile, set a large metal pot on a stand close to the pile of logs. Rasalas now knew it was a Caudle—an old English concoction or drink that would be heated by the bonfire. It had been prepared sometime earlier.

"If we are all here, let us begin," said Casey. "Rasalas, since this is your first Beltane with us, I'll ask you to help light our bonfire."

"I... thank you. What do I have to do?"

"Have you ever used a flint and steel before?"

Rasalas looked at her sideways.

"I'll help," Brady offered, "I've used it."

"Here then."

"Why can't 'ya just use a lighter?" Corey questioned.

"The fire has to be started using natural means," Casey explained, while Brady taught Rasalas how to use the flint rock against the bar of steel to make sparks. It took a bit of practice, before Rasalas understood how it worked.

As the fire took hold, Casey said, "Spread in a circle and join hands."

She waited for everyone to join hands, before continuing, "Great mother of the earth, heavenly father of men, thank you. Thank you for gifting us with your presence on this, one of the holiest days.

"We thank you for your unending love and protection through the darkness, and now as we cycle back into the light, we ask you once again lend your blessings and protection of person, home, kin, and nourishment."

"Great mother," said Ryan, "W-w-watch over us as we m-m-move to meet your great followers, help us to s-s-seek the lessens and guidance from your holy isle, that we m-m-m-might bring your message t-t-to those who have forgotten it.

"I th-th-thank you for the new path you have set me on, and ask for your strength and guidance as I f-f-follow it."

Rasalas hesitated before speaking, "Mother goddess, you have named me your champion. Though these past months have been a challenge, I still thank you for them, for they only make me stronger. I accept the role you have chosen me for, to be your messenger, and equally look forward to meeting your great sisterhood on your holy isle. So mote it be."

"So mote it be," said Ryan.

"So mote it be," said Casey.

"Amen," Brady whispered, with his brother and mother following suit.

It was then the fire seemed to flare up, shooting to nearly double its height, if only for a few seconds. At the same time, an unmistakable surge of energy went out in all directions. It made the hair on everyone's arms stand on end, as though the air around them were charged with electricity.

Casey and Ryan simply bowed their heads a moment.

"Did you feel it?" asked Aaron.

"Oh yeah. It was magical," said Rasalas, with a grin, as everyone let go each others' hands.

"Touched by the great mother," said Ryan, "Just like b-b-back at Samhain."

Brady and his family remained silent. Most definitely they'd all felt it, but... to acknowledge it... would also instill doubt. Brady had to admit though... the wording had been a nice touch. It had been hard enough to get his mother to join the ceremony at all.

Phil, meanwhile, used a pair of oven mitts, and moved the large pot to the edge of the fire, while Aaron brought over some chairs so everyone could sit down.

"In the old times, the entire village would participate," said Casey, "They would dance around the fire, or leap through it, even. If they had livestock, they would be led around it—or in much older times, through it—with the belief the fire would grant protection over the herd when it was put out to pasture."

"I find this fascinating," said Sirius, "My family never participated in any ritual like this. At least not for their own blessing, I know that for sure. Their rituals were generally targeted at cursing their enemies, or other such rot."

"Our ancestors were a dark lot, Padfoot."

"How far back does your family go, Mr. Black?"

"Hundreds of years, Mrs. Gibson. Perhaps not back to Merlin, but at least seven or eight hundred years. If anything, Harry—or Rasalas' blood line may be older, being descended from the Peverells. We can trace them back to before Merlin."

"That means I could claim the estate, could I not?" asked Rasalas.

"There's nothing about claiming it," Sirius chuckled, "You have the right to be addressed as Lord Peverell."

Casey blinked. "A Lord? As in a peer of the realm?"

"I don't know if he would have standing in the English House of Lords or not, but he most definitely carries a fair bit of weight with the English Wizengamot. However... before you get ideas of just storming into the place—"

"Wouldn't dream of it. No way I'm ready for that kind of challenge, Padfoot."

"Good. Exactly as I was about to say. There are still many things you need to learn before you attempt such a thing. As it stands, you would control both the Peverell and Potter seats—though I believe Albus has been holding those by proxy."

"Can I assign a different proxy?"

"I would keep the Peverell linage quiet for now, Rasalas. But otherwise, yes, you can."

"Can you suggest someone? Someone who isn't going to automatically agree with Dumbledore, preferably."

"Either Amelia Bones, or Augusta Longbottom. I don't know if you remember Neville or not, but Augusta is his grandmother. Amelia, meanwhile, is the head of DMLE. Both tend to be pretty impartial when it comes to matters before the Wizengamot, and they tend to vote together on issues."

"How would I carry out the change?"

"You would draft two letters. The first going to Dumbledore, announcing your change of assignment. The second, goes to the person you choose as your new proxy. Both are automatically copied and filed with the clerk of the Wizengamot and will become part of the public record."

"It'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon or evening—actually... Sirius, could you see to it?"

"But you'll need to approve it and send it out."

"I'll want Kate to have a look at them as well. And if anything, it might be better if it goes through her office anyway. The solicitor acting on my behalf, makes it a little more official, right?"

Sirius smirked. "I don't know which Albus will hate more."

"Oh, he'll hate me much more by the time I'm through with him. Kate's still digging into his history."

"All right, I think that's enough of such discussion," said Casey, frowning, "This is supposed to be a light occasion."

"Yeah. Gettin' back to this nobility stuff... can't believe you're titled, Ras," said Brady, shaking his head.

"Just as surprised as you are. But hey, if it lets me mete out justice, all the better. It just gives me a much bigger club to come at people with."

"Boys! Enough!" Casey scolded them again.

Soon after, the Caudle was heated and ready to be served. Rasalas produced mugs from his pouch, having collected them earlier, so they wouldn't have to trek back into the house for them. The drink was a mixture of ale, egg yolks, sugar, wheat starch, and ginger. Rasalas thought it tasted all right, but the consistency was... weird. It was something to be sampled sparsely, that much was for certain.

The night wore on, and it was only natural that Brady fetched his guitar. Rasalas was once again in heaven, hearing him sing. And with Phil playing the fiddle, others also lent their voices to song. Rasalas was surprised to hear Aaron... the guy could carry a tune quite well, never mind Brady's mother.

The biggest surprise, however, came from Ryan.

"This is probably g-g-gonna suck, and I'm only gonna sing a few words of it, but—"

"Jus' go for it," Brady encouraged him.

Ryan closed his eyes and began:

_They fashion streets out of the rock_

_Struck up statues to their gods_

_And hung up flight on every corner they made_

_We are charged spoil in to go_

_Bring me back to where I'm from_

_A billion molecules are landing on, on your heart_

_Pulse in with life_

_Pulse in with life_

_Pulse in with life_

_My home is where you are_

_And every beat and every beat_

_we're closer_

_My home is where you are_

_And every beat and every beat_

_we're closer(1)_

With Brady quickly improvising, and Phil joining in, it was just... magical, for lack of a better term. The ginger-haired young man had shocked them all yet again. He received a warm round of applause for his efforts.

"Dude... that was beautiful," said Aaron, who then proceeded to kiss him senseless.

"Aaron... g-g-great goddess, you're scarin' the g-g-guests."

As it neared 11:30, Rasalas excused himself, pulling Aaron, Ryan, and Brady along.

"We need to make final preparations for our... trip," Rasalas explained, "We'll set the port key off out here though, so there'll be time for farewells."

They quickly entered the house, climbed the stairs, entered the sanctuary. Rasalas noted the planetarium doors were sealed, and though he didn't remember doing it earlier, he detected the owner-level lock. Opening it then would be disastrous.

"C'mon, back to my room."

They headed for Brady and Rasalas' room, and stepped inside after unlocking it.

"What are we doing in here? Don't—"

"Aaron. Just a 'sec."

Rasalas reached into his jumper, and pulled out the strange amulet and the chain he wore.

"Get close to me... good."

Rasalas then draped the chain around all four of them.

"What... Ras... what're 'ya doin'?"

"Trust me."

Rasalas then began to turn the little knob, flipping the hourglass. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven. Seven times. At first, nothing seemed to be changing... until Brady caught a glimpse of the clock sitting on Rasalas' bedside table. The hands were spinning wildly in reverse. As if... and now he knew. The device Rasalas was using... it was identical to the much larger device he also owned. They were quite literally unwinding time.

The clock at last stopped running backwards, and Rasalas removed the amulet's chain from around his friends' necks.

"What happened?" Aaron asked.

"We gone back in time, haven't we?"

"Got it in one. This..." Rasalas pointed to his amulet, "Is a time-turner. None of you can tell anyone I have it... Sirius knows—I mean, he gave it to me... and Hermione... because she's had one before... but no one else knows. This stuff is very dangerous."

"But why? Why did we—"

"We need sleep," Brady guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

"We've travelled back seven hours. I'm setting the alarm for 11:25. We'll need to be in the planetarium before 11:30, since that's when we arrived here."

Brady then had an 'ah-ha' moment. "Now I get why 'ya locked the door to the room."

"Exactly. We won't be bothered until we're in the planetarium. Now come on. Let's get some rest. And to be sure..." He opened up the potions cabinet, and took out four sleeping draughts.

* * *

><p>All too soon, Rasalas felt someone prodding at his side.<p>

"Ras... alarm's goin'."

"What? Oh. Right. C'mon you lot, we need to get up," said Rasalas, sleepily.

His dream had been a good one, of him riding his broom, Brady on the back, with them high above a beautiful island surrounded by an immense lake. Both Ryan and Aaron were along, on their own brooms, and Brady was singing something in his ear, the lyrics of which he couldn't remember.

"What?"

"Good dream," Rasalas admitted, as he got dressed, "Nice dreaming about you guys rather than that blasted door at the Department of Mysteries."

"Well, your Occlumency helps, right?" Aaron pointed out, as he also quickly dressed.

"All right. You guys ready?"

"Yeah. Let's d-d-do this."

Just as it rolled over to 11:30, Rasalas approached the door leading into the planetarium. As expected, it was unlocked, as apposed to when they approached it later... or earlier... or in the future past... or... Rasalas shook his head. Time-travel was confusing at times!

Rasalas, Brady, Aaron, and Ryan finally stepped into the planetarium. Rasalas then pulled the doors closed and locked them with the same locking charm.

"Right. We're in here until the port key is programmed."

"What're we usin'?" asked Brady.

"This," said Ryan, pulling a battered pie plate from his pouch.

"Good thing the machine is going to program it for us... I'm still a bit dodgy when it comes to port keys," Rasalas muttered. "Someone get the map shifted to our position for now."

"Got it," said Aaron. He quickly scrolled the map back to the house. They had done plenty of exploring with the map, just to see whether or not the incredible detail covered the entire world—it did. They had seen some truly remarkable things, and some truly horrifying things, all in almost minute detail. The only thing the map did not reveal, was actual people. The map was not exactly live, though Rasalas had a suspicion it could be made so.

The next twenty or so minutes were spent reviewing the process—hence the return to the planetarium a half-hour beforehand. Rasalas was nearly confident the device could be used many times, but still wanted to be sure their first attempt was successful. It was the entire purpose of him receiving it in the first place.

"All right, guys. Show time," said Aaron. He now held a page of paper in his hand with a number of figures written out on it. It was 11:50 pm.

"Right. Read us the numbers, and we'll program the dials."

"First pair, set to six point three two five."

"First pair, set to s-s-six point three two five," said Ryan, adjusting the first pair of knobs. The projection jittered a moment.

"Second pair, set to zero point eight."

"Second pair, set to zero point eight," said Rasalas, who then adjusted the next knob. There were ten different sets of numerical dials that had to be set.

"Third pair, set to seven point three eight one."

"Th-third pair to seven p-p-point three eight one," Ryan parroted, configuring the next knob.

This was repeated for the rest of the knobs, and each time, the sky overhead jittered, sometimes only a little, other times, like mad, before coming to rest. Several times, they caught a glimpse of one of the planets. Other times, familiar constellations made their appearance.

Rasalas understood what they were truly doing: unwinding time in a virtual sense. The set of numbers they were programming into the planetarium would present an accurate reflection of the earth's position in the universe in that point of time.

The real magic, though, came from the temporal crystal he'd recovered from Faslane. This was the key to the whole operation.

"Last pair," said Aaron, "Zero point zero zero zero."

The sky shuddered again, and now when Rasalas looked down, the map was somewhat darker, and many of the features he'd gotten used to seeing were now gone. The fields were more brush-like, and the railroad tracks to the north of the property were gone. The group of numbers that they had assumed represented the date now read: 05 – 02 – 515.

Rasalas zoomed the map out, then refocused it on the U.K., and the marker that represented Faslane. Now, the marker read, OAKNEY.

"Bloody hell..."

"Language, Ras," Ryan smirked. That earned a rude gesture.

"C'mon, we knew it would work, right," said Rasalas, shifting the map. Now, instead of COTTON WOOD, was the label CAMELOT. He tapped the location with his wand, causing a large compass-like marker to appear.

"Ryan, put the pie plate on the marker."

Ryan did as asked, and Rasalas touched it with his wand, speaking, "_Tempus(2) Portus._"

Unlike with the creation of a typical port key, the pie plate shuddered and turned a brilliant green for a moment, before falling still. The entire centre pedestal had also momentarily lit up, showering the room in a brilliant green light before falling still.

Rasalas bent down and collected the port key. "Right. Let's warn the others we're going."

"We need to make it quick. It's two minutes to the hour. We don't want the time to be too far out of synch."

"Right."

Rasalas quickly collected the orb from his room—the control orb had been moved in the middle of March, once they had collected everything of use from the island. The door into Ryan's room remained active, with them for the most part ignoring the default entrance out of simplicity.

They found everyone still gathered around the bonfire, which blazed as strongly as when first lit.

"Is it done?" asked Phil.

"It's ready. I'm pretty confident we'll be seeing each other in about twelve hours, if not sooner," said Rasalas. But in case..."

"Rasalas. We've been through the plan a hundred times," said Sirius, "Now go."

"Be careful with my boy, Mr. Black," said Betty.

"I promise. As I promise you, Mrs. Sawyer. I'll kill for them if I have to." He produced the port key. "Gather around."

Brady, Ryan, and Aaron quickly gathered around Rasalas, each getting a good grip on the pie plate.

"Three... two... one... _activate_!" The four of them vanished in a blur of limbs.

* * *

><p>By now, Rasalas was more than accustomed to travelling by port key, particularly after their lengthy stay at the manor. He still had difficulty landing without falling over, but that was slowly improving... but the sensation, it was rather typical—up until now.<p>

This time, when they were whisked away by this particular port key, it was a shock to the system. It was as if they'd entered a full-blown electrical storm, and Rasalas had to reach over and grab Ryan, as he was trying to let go. The wind twisted and whipped around them, with flashing lights of all colours. Everything then went painfully white, before complete darkness—

Suddenly, they found themselves free-falling...

* * *

><p><em>UP NEXT: The arrival at Camelot brings about a rather awkward meeting.<em>

_CHAPTER NOTES: Electronics and magical surges do NOT work well together. Oops. Now, question is, did Garokat do it on purpose? No matter what, it would do some lasting damage to the economy, and that sort of thing has a nasty history to prove it so._

_Brady, meanwhile, might have a different fight on his hands, all of it surrounding his faith. What happens when he meets the Lady of the Lake, and sets foot in the holy isle itself?_

_(1) "Home", originally released as a single in 2009 and appears on the album "Volume". Writers: John McDaid & Paul Van Dyk. Copyright (C) 2009. All rights reserved._


End file.
